To 
Him 
H«xtK 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 
RALPH  CONNOR 


WW.  OF  CJLUF.  LBMURY.  LO*  AHG1EU* 


BY  RALPH  CONNOR 


To  HIM  THAT  HATH 

THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  No  MAN'S  LAND 

THE  MAJOR 

THE  PATROL  OF  THE  SUN  DANCE  TRAIL 

CORPORAL  CAMERON 

THE  FOREIGNER 

BLACK  ROCK 

THE  SKY  PILOT 

THE  PROSPECTOR 

THE  DOCTOR 

THE  MAN  FROM  GLENGARRY 

GLENGARRY  SCHOOL  DAYS 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


BY 

RALPH  CONNOR 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  SKY  PILOT,"  "CORPORAL  CAMERON," 
"THE  PATROL  OF  THE  SUN  DANCE  TRAIL,"  ETC 


NEW  YORK:  GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 
TORONTO:  MCCLELLAND  &  STEWART 


COPYRIGHT,   IQ2I. 
BY  GEORGE  H.   DORAN   COMPANY 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I    THE  GAME n 

II    THE  COST  OF  SACRIFICE 28 

III  THE  HEATHEN  QUEST 44 

IV  ANNETTE 50 

V    THE  RECTORY «  62 

VI    THE  GRIEVANCE  COMMITTEE 78 

VII    THE  FOREMAN 90 

VIII    FREE  SPEECH 103 

IX    THE  DAY  BEFORE 122 

X    THE  NIGHT  OF  VICTORY 142 

XI    THE  NEW  MANAGER 168 

XII    LIGHT  THAT  Is  DARKNESS 197 

XIII  THE  STRIKE 219 

XIV  GATHERING  CLOUDS 232 

XV    THE  STORM 242 

XVI    A  GALLANT  FIGHT 266 

XVII  SHALL  BE  GIVEN                                    ....  280 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


CHAPTER  I 

THE     GAME 

"Forty-Love." 

"Game !  and  Set.    Six  to  two." 

A  ripple  of  cheers  ran  round  the  court,  followed  by  a 
buzz  of  excited  conversation. 

The  young  men  smiled  at  each  other  and  at  their  friends 
on  the  side  lines  and  proceeded  to  change  courts  for  the 
next  set,  pausing  for  refreshments  on  the  way. 

"Much  too  lazy,  Captain  Jack.  I  am  quite  out  of  pa- 
tience with  you,"  cried  a  young  girl  whose  brown  eyes 
were  dancing  with  mock  indignation. 

Captain  Jack  turned  with  a  slightly  bored  look  on  his 
thin  dark  face. 

"Too  lazy,  Frances  ?"  drawled  he.  "I  believe  you.  But 
think  of  the  temperature." 

"You  have  humiliated  me  dreadfully,"  she  said  severely. 

"Humiliated  you?  You  shock  me.  But  how,  pray?" 
Captain  Jack's  eyes  opened  wide. 

"You,  a  Canadian,  and  our  best  player — at  least,  you 
used  to  be — to  allow  yourself  to  be  beaten  by  a — a — " 
she  glanced  at  his  opponent  with  a  defiant  smile — "a 
foreigner." 

EH] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


"Oh !  I  say,  Miss  Frances,"  exclaimed  that  young  man. 

"A  foreigner?"  exclaimed  Captain  Jack.  "Better  not 
let  Adrien  hear  you."  He  turned  toward  a  tall  fair  girl 
standing  near. 

"What's  that?"  said  the  girl.   "Did  I  hear  aright?" 

"Well,  he's  not  a  Canadian,  I  mean,"  said  Frances, 
sticking  to  her  guns.  "Besides,  I  can't  stand  Adrien  crow- 
ing over  me.  She  is  already  far  too  English,,  don-che- 
know.  You  have  given  her  one  more  occasion  for 
triumph  over  us  Colonials." 

"Ah,  this  is  serious,"  said  Captain  Jack.  "But  really 
it  is  too  hot  you  know  for — what  shall  I  say  ? — Interna- 
tional complications." 

"Jack,  you  are  plain  lazy,"  said  Frances.  "You  know 
you  are.  You  don't  deserve  to  win,  but  if  you  really 
would  put  your  back  into  it " 

"Oh,  come,  Frances.  Why !  You  don't  know  that  my 
cousin  played  for  his  College  at  Oxford.  And  that  is 
saying  something,"  said  Adrien. 

"There  you  are,  Jack !  That's  the  sort  of  thing  I  have 
to  live  with,"  said  Frances.  "She  thinks  that  settles 
everything." 

"Well,  doesn't  it  rather  ?"  smiled  Adrien. 

"Oh,  Jack,  if  you  have  any  regard  for  your  country, 
not  to  say  my  unworthy  self,  won't  you  humble  her?" 
implored  Frances.  "If  you  would  only  buck  up!" 

"He  will  need  to,  eh,  Adrien?"  said  a  young  fellow 
standing  near,  slowly  sipping  his  drink. 

"I  think  so.  Indeed,  I  am  quite  sure  of  it,"  coolly  re- 
plied the  girl  addressed.  "But  I  really  think  it  is  quite 
useless." 

"Ha!  Ha!  Cheer  up,  Jack,"  laughed  the  young  man, 
Stillwell  by  name. 

"Really,  old  chap,  I  feel  I  must  beat  you  this  set,"  said 

[12] 


THE  GAME 


Captain  Jack  to  the  young  Englishman.  "My  country's 
credit  as  well  as  my  own  is  at  stake,  you  see." 

"Both  are  fairly  assured,  I  should  say,"  said  the 
Englishman. 

"Not  to-day,"  said  Stillwell,  with  a  suspicion  of  a  polite 
sneer  in  his  voice.  "My  money  says  so." 

"Canada  vs.  the  Old  Country !"  cried  a  voice  from  the 
company. 

"Now,  Jack,  Jack,  remember,"  implored  Frances. 

"You  have  no  mercy,  Miss  Frances,  I  see,"  said  the 
Englishman,  looking  straight  into  her  eyes. 

"Absolutely  none,"  she  replied,  smiling  saucily  at  him. 

"Vae  victis,  eh,  old  chap?"  said  Sidney,  as  they  saun- 
tered off  together  to  their  respective  courts.  "By  the 
way,  who  is  that  Stillwell  chap  ?"  he  asked  in  a  low  voice 
of  Captain  Jack  as  they  moved  away  from  the  others. 
"Of  any  particular  importance?" 

"I  think  you've  got  him  all  right,"  replied  Jack  care- 
lessly. The  Englishman  nodded. 

"He  somehow  gets  my  goat,"  said  Jack.  The  Eng- 
lishman looked  mystified. 

"Rubs  me  the  wrong  way,  you  know." 

"Oh,  very  good,  very  good.     I  must  remember  that." 

"He  rather  fancies  his  own  game,  too,"  said  Jack, 
"and  he  has  come  on  the  last  year  or  two.  In  more  ways 
than  one,"  he  added  as  an  afterthought. 

As  they  faced  each  other  on  the  court  it  was  Stillwell's 
voice  that  rang  out : 

"Now  then,  England!" 

"Canada!"  cried  a  girl's  voice  that  was  easily  recog- 
nised as  that  of  Frances  Amory. 

"Thumbs  down,  eh,  Maitland?"  said  the  Englishman, 
waving  a  hand  toward  his  charming  enemy. 

Whatever  the  cause,  whether  from  the  spur  supplied 

[13] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


by  the  young  lady  who  had  constituted  herself  his  cham- 
pion or  from  the  sting  from  the  man  for  whom  for  rea- 
sons sufficient  for  himself  he  had  only  feelings  of  hos- 
tility and  dislike,  the  game  put  up  by  Captain  Jack  was  of 
quite  a  different  brand  from  that  he  had  previously  fur- 
nished. From  the  first  service  he  took  the  offensive  and 
throughout  played  brilliant,  aggressive,  even  smashing 
tennis,  so  much  so  that  his  opponent  appeared  to  be  almost 
outclassed  and  at  the  close  the  figures  of  the  first  set  were 
exactly  reversed,  standing  six  to  two  in  Captain  Jack's 
favour. 

The  warmth  of  the  cheers  that  followed  attested  the 
popularity  of  the  win. 

"My  word,  old  chap,  that  is  top-hole  tennis,"  said  the 
Englishman,  warmly  congratulating  him. 

"Luck,  old  boy,  brilliant  luck!"  said  Captain  Jack. 
"Couldn't  do  it  again  for  a  bet." 

"You  must  do  it  just  once  more,"  said  Frances,  com- 
ing to  meet  the  players.  "Oh,  you  dear  old  thing.  Come 
and  be  refreshed.  Here  is  the  longest,  coolest  thing  in 
drinks  this  Club  affords.  And  one  for  you,  too,"  she 
added,  turning  to  the  Englishman.  "You  played  a  great 
game." 

"Did  I  not?  I  was  at  the  top  of  my  form,"  said  the 
Englishman  gallantly.  "But  all  in  vain,  as  you  see." 

"Now  for  the  final,"  cried  Frances  eagerly. 

"Dear  lady,"  said  Captain  Jack,  affecting  supreme  ex- 
haustion, "as  you  are  mighty,  be  merciful !  Let  it  suffice 
that  we  appear  to  have  given  you  an  exposition  of  fairly 
respectable  tennis.  I  am  quite  done." 

"A  great  win,  Jack,"  said  Adrien,  offering  her  hand  in 
congratulation. 

"All  flukes  count,  eh,  Maitland?"  laughed  Stillwell, 

[14] 


unable  in  spite  of  his  laugh  to  keep  the  bite  out  of  his 
voice. 

"Fluke?"  exclaimed  the  Englishman  in  a  slow  drawl- 
ing voice.  "I  call  it  ripping  good  tennis,  if  I  am  a  judge." 

A  murmur  of  approval  ran  through  the  company, 
crowding  about  with  congratulations  to  both  players. 

"Oh,  of  course,  of  course,"  said  Stillwell,  noting  the 
criticism  of  his  unsportsmanlike  remark.  "What  I  mean 
is,  Maitland  is  clearly  out  of  condition.  If  he  were  not 
I  wouldn't  mind  taking  him  on  myself,"  he  added  with 
another  laugh. 

"Now,  do  you  mean?"  said  Captain  Jack  lazily. 

"We  will  wait  till  the  match  is  played  out,"  said  Still- 
well  with  easy  confidence.  "Some  other  day,  when  you 
are  in  shape,  eh  ?"  he  added,  smiling  at  Maitland. 

"Now  if  you  like,  or  after  the  match,  or  any  old  time," 
said  Captain  Jack,  looking  at  Stillwell  with  hard  grey, 
unsmiling  eyes.  "I  understand  you  have  come  up  on  your 
game  during  the  war." 

Stillwell's  face  burned  a  furious  red  at  the  little  laugh 
that  went  round  among  Captain  Jack's  friends. 

"Frankly,  I  have  had  enough  for  to-day,"  said  the 
Englishman  to  Jack. 

"All  right,  old  chap,  if  you  don't  really  mind.  Though 
I  feel  you  would  certainly  take  the  odd  set." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,  by  Jove.  I  am  quite  satisfied  to  let 
it  go  at  that.  We  will  have  another  go  some  time." 

"Any  time  that  suits  you — to-morrow,  eh?" 

"To-morrow  be  it,"  said  the  Englishman. 

"Now,  then,  Stillwell,"  said  Captain  Jack,  with  a  curt 
nod  at  him.  "Whenever  you  are  ready." 

"Oh,  come,  Maitland.  I  was  only  joshing,  you  know. 
You  don't  want  to  play  with  me  to-day,"  said  Stillwell, 

[15] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


not  relishing  the  look  on  Maitland's  face.    "We  can  have 
a  set  any  time." 

"No !"  said  Maitland  shortly.  "It's  now  or  never." 

"Oh,  all  right,"  said  Stillwell,  with  an  uneasy  laugh, 
going  into  the  Club  house  for  his  racquet. 

The  proposed  match  had  brought  a  new  atmosphere 
into  the  Club  house,  an  atmosphere  of  contest  with  all  the 
fun  left  out. 

"I  don't  like  this  at  all,"  said  a  man  with  iron  grey  hair 
and  deeply  tanned  face. 

"One  can't  well  object,  Russell,"  said  a  younger  man, 
evidently  a  friend  of  Stillwell's.  "Maitland  brought  it 
on,  and  I  hope  he  gets  mighty  well  trimmed.  He  is  alto- 
gether too  high  and  mighty  these  days." 

"Oh,  I  don't  agree  with  you  at  all,"  broke  in  Frances, 
in  a  voice  coldly  proper.  "You  heard  what  Mr.  Stillwell 
said?" 

"Well,  not  exactly." 

"Ah,  I  might  have  guessed  you  had  not,"  answered  the 
young  lady,  turning  away. 

Edwards  looked  foolishly  round  upon  the  circle  of 
men  who  stood  grinning  at  him. 

"Now  will  you  be  good?"  said  a  youngster  who  had 
led  the  laugh  at  Edwards'  expense. 

"What  the  devil  are  you  laughing  at,  Menzies?"  he 
asked  hotly. 

"Why,  don't  you  see  the  joke?"  enquired  Menzies  inno- 
cently. "Well,  carry  on!  You  will  to-morrow." 

Edwards  growled  out  an  oath  and  took  himself  off. 

Meantime  the  match  was  making  furious  progress, 
with  the  fury,  it  must  be  confessed,  confined  to  one  side 
only  of  the  net.  Captain  Jack  was  playing  a  driving, 
ruthless  game,  snatching  and  employing  without  mercy 
every  advantage  that  he  could  legitimately  claim.  He  de- 
[16] 


THE  GAME 


livered  his  service  with  deadly  precision,  following  up  at 
the  net  with  a  smashing  return,  which  left  his  opponent 
helpless.  His  aggressive  tactics  gave  his  opponent  almost 
no  opportunity  to  score,  and  he  kept  the  pace  going  at 
the  height  of  his  speed.  The  onlookers  were  divided  in 
their  sentiments.  Still  well  had  a  strong  following  of  his 
own  who  expressed  their  feelings  by  their  silence  at 
Jack's  brilliant  strokes  and  their  loud  approval  of  Still- 
well's  good  work  when  he  gave  them  opportunity,  while 
many  of  Maitland's  friends  deprecated  his  tactics  and 
more  especially  his  spirit. 

At  whirlwind  pace  Captain  Jack  made  the  first  three 
games  a  "love"  score,  leaving  his  opponent  dazed,  be- 
wildered with  his  smashing  play  and  blind  with  rage  at 
his  contemptuous  bearing. 

"I  think  I  must  go  home,  Frances,"  said  Adrien  to 
her  friend,  her  face  pale,  her  head  carried  high. 

Frances  seized  her  by  the  arm  and  drew  her  to  one 
side. 

"Adrien,  you  must  not  go!  You  simply  must  not!" 
she  said  in  a  low  tense  voice.  "It  will  be  misunderstood, 
and " 

"I  am  going,  Frances,"  said  her  friend  in  a  cold,  clear 
voice.  "I  have  had  enough  tennis  for  this  afternoon. 
Where  is  Sidney  ?  Ah,  there  he  is  across  the  court.  No ! 
Let  me  go,  Frances!" 

"You  simply  must  not  go  like  that  in  the  middle  of  a 
game,  Adrien.  Wait  at  least  till  this  game  is  over," 
said  her  friend,  clutching  hard  at  her  arm. 

"Very  well.    Let  us  go  to  Sidney,"  said  Adrien. 

Together  they  made  their  way  round  the  court  almost 
wholly  unobserved,  so  intent  was  the  crowd  upon  the 
struggle  going  on  before  them.  As  the  game  finished 
Adrien  laid  her  hand  upon  her  cousin's  arm. 

[17] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


"Haven't  you  had  enough  of  this?"  she  said.  Her 
voice  carried  clear  across  the  court. 

"What  d'ye  say?  By  Jove,  no!"  said  her  cousin  in  a 
joyous  voice.  "This  is  the  most  cheering  thing  I've  seen 
for  many  moons,  Adrien.  Eh,  what?  Oh,  I  beg  pardon, 
are  you  seedy?"  he  added  glancing  at  her.  "Oh,  cer- 
tainly, I'll  come  at  once." 

"Not  at  all.  Don't  think  of  it.  I  have  a  call  to  make 
on  my  way  home.  Please  don't  come." 

"But,  Adrien,  I  say,  this  will  be  over  now  in  a  few 
minutes.  Can't  you  really  wait?" 

"No,  I  am  not  in  the  least  interested  in  this — this  kind 
of  tennis,"  she  said  in  a  bored  voice. 

Her  tone,  pitched  rather  higher  than  usual,  carried  to 
the  ears  of  the  players  who  were  changing  ends  at  the 
moment.  Both  of  the  men  glanced  at  her.  Stillwell's 
face  showed  swift  gratitude.  On  Jack's  face  the  shadow 
darkened  but  except  for  a  slight  straightening  of  the  line 
of  his  lips  he  gave  no  sign. 

"You  are  quite  sure  you  don't  care?"  said  Sidney. 
"You  don't  want  me?  This  really  is  great,  you  know." 

"Not  for  worlds  would  I  drag  you  away,"  said  Adrien 
in  a  cool,  clear  voice.  "Frances  will  keep  you  company." 
She  turned  to  her  friend.  "Look  after  him,  Frances," 
she  said.  "Good-bye.  Dinner  at  seven  to-night,  you 
know." 

"Right-o!"  said  Sidney,  raising  his  hat  in  farewell. 
"By  Jove,  I  wouldn't  miss  this  for  millions,"  he  con- 
tinued, making  room  for  Frances  beside  him.  "Your 
young  friend  is  really  somewhat  violent  in  his  style,  eh, 
what?" 

"There  are  times  when  violence  is  the  only  possible 
thing,"  replied  Frances  grimly. 
[18] 


THE  GAME 


"By  the  way,  who  is  the  victim?  I  mean,  what  is  he 
exactly?" 

"Mr.  Stillwell?  Oh,  he  is  the  son  of  his  father,  the 
biggest  merchant  in  Blackwater.  Oh,  lovely!  Beautiful 
return !  Jack  is  simply  away  above  his  form !  And  some- 
thing of  a  merchant  and  financier  on  his  own  account, 
to  be  quite  fair.  Making  money  fast  and  using  it  wisely. 
But  I'm  not  going  to  talk  about  him.  You  see  a  lot  of 
him  about  the  Rectory,  don't  you  ?" 

"Well,  something,"  replied  Sidney.  "I  can't  quite  un- 
derstand the  situation,  I  confess.  To  be  quite  frank,  I 
don't  cotton  much  to  him.  A  bit  sweetish,  eh,  what?" 

"Yes,  at  the  Rectory  doubtless.  I  would  hardly  attrib- 
ute to  him  a  sweet  disposition.  Oh,  quit  talking  about 
him.  He  had  flat  feet  in  the  war,  I  think  it  was.  Jack's 
twin  brother  was  killed,  you  know — and  mine — well,  you 
know  how  mine  is." 

A  swift  vision  of  a  bright-faced,  cheery-voiced  soldier, 
feeling  his  way  around  a  darkened  room  in  the  Amory 
home,  leaped  to  Sidney's  mind  and  overwhelmed  him  with 
pity  and  self-reproach. 

"Dear  Miss  Frances,  will  you  forgive  me?  I  hadn't 
quite  got  on  to  the  thing.  I  understand  the  game  better 
now." 

"Now,  I  don't  want  to  poison  your  mind.  I  shouldn't 
have  said  that — about  the  flat  feet,  I  mean.  He  goes 
to  the  Rectory,  you  know.  I  want  to  be  fair " 

"Please  don't  worry.  We  know  all  about  that  sort  at 
home,"  said  Sidney,  touching  her  hand  for  a  moment. 
"My  word,  that  was  a  hot  one !  The  flat-footed  Johnnie 
is  obviously  bewildered.  The  last  game  was  sheer  mas- 
sacre,  eh,  what?" 

If  Maitland  was  not  in  form  there  was  no  sign  of  it 
in  his  work  on  the  court.  There  was  little  of  courtesy, 

[19] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


less  of  fun  and  nothing  at  all  of  mercy  in  his  play.  From 
first  to  last  and  without  reprieve  he  drove  his  game  ruth- 
lessly to  a  finish.  So  terrific,  so  resistless  were  his  at- 
tacks, so  coldly  relentless  the  spirit  he  showed,  ignoring 
utterly  all  attempts  at  friendly  exchange  of  courtesy,  that 
the  unhappy  and  enraged  Stillwell,  becoming  utterly  de- 
moralized, lost  his  nerve,  lost  his  control  and  hopelessly 
lost  every  chance  he  ever  possessed  of  winning  a  single 
game  of  the  set  which  closed  with  the  score  six  to  nothing. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  set  Stillwell,  with  no  pretense 
of  explanation  or  apology,  left  the  courts  to  his  enemy 
who  stood  waiting  his  appearance  in  a  silence  so  oppres- 
sive that  it  seemed  to  rest  like  a  pall  upon  the  side  lines. 
So  overwhelming  was  Stillwell's  defeat,  so  humiliating 
his  exhibition  of  total  collapse  of  morale  that  the  com- 
pany received  the  result  with  but  slight  manifestation  of 
feeling.  Without  any  show  of  sympathy  even  his  friends 
slipped  away,  as  if  unwilling  to  add  to  his  humiliation  by 
their  commiseration.  On  the  other  side,  the  congratula- 
tions offered  Maitland  were  for  the  most  part  lacking  in 
the  spontaneity  that  is  supposed  to  be  proper  to  such  a 
smashing  victory.  Some  of  his  friends  seemed  to  feel  as 
if  they  had  been  called  upon  to  witness  an  unworthy 
thing.  Not  so,  however,  with  either  Frances  Amory  or 
Sidney  Templeton.  Both  greeted  Captain  Jack  with  en- 
thusiasm and  warmth,  openly  and  freely  rejoicing  in  his 
victory. 

"By  Jove,  Maitland,  that  was  tremendous,  appalling, 
eh,  what?" 

"I  meant  it  to  be  so,"  said  Maitland  grimly,  "else  I 
should  not  have  played  with  him." 

"It  was  coming  to  him,"  said  Frances.  "I  am  simply 
completely  delighted." 

"Can  I  give  you  a  lift  home,  Frances  ?"  said  Maitland. 

[20] 


THE  GAME 


"Let  us  get  away.  You,  too,  Templeton,"  he  added 
to  Sidney,  who  was  lingering  near  the  young  lady  in  ob- 
vious unwillingness  to  leave  her  side. 

"Oh,  thanks!  Sure  you  have  room?"  he  said.  "All 
right.  You  know  my  cousin  left  me  in  your  care." 

"Oh,  indeed!  Well,  come  along  then,  since  our  hero 
is  so  good.  Really,  I  am  uplifted  to  quite  an  unusual 
height  of  glorious  exultation." 

"Don't  rub  it  in,  Frank,"  said  Jack  gloomily.  "I  made 
an  ass  of  myself,  I  know  quite  well." 

"What  rot,  Jack.  Every  one  of  your  friends  was 
tickled  to  death." 

"Adrien,  for  instance,  eh?"  said  Jack  with  a  bitter 
little  laugh,  taking  his  place  at  the  wheel. 

"Oh,  Adrien!"  replied  Frances.  "Well,  you  know 
Adrien!  She  is — just  Adrien." 

As  he  turned  into  the  street  there  was  a  sound  of  rush- 
ing feet. 

"Hello,  Captain  Jack!  Oh,  Captain  Jack!  Wait  for 
me !  You  \\ave  room,  haven't  you  ?" 

A  whirlwind  of  flashing  legs  and  windblown  masses 
of  gold-red  hair,  which  realised  itself  into  a  young  girl  of 
about  sixteen,  bore  down  on  the  car.  It  was  Adrien's 
younger  sister,  Patricia,  and  at  once  her  pride  and  her 
terror. 

"Why,  Patsy,  where  on  earth  did  you  come  from? 
Of  course!  Get  in!  Glad  to  have  you,  old  chap." 

"Oh,  Captain  Jack,  what  a  game!  What  a  wonderful 
game!  And  Rupert  has  been  playing  all  summer  and 
awfully  well!  And  you  have  hardly  played  a  game!  I 
was  awfully  pleased " 

"Were  you?  I'm  not  sure  that  I  was,"  replied  Cap- 
tain Jack. 

[21] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


"Well,  you  were  savage,  you  know.  You  looked  as  if 
you  were  in  a  fight." 

"Did  I  ?    That  was  very  rotten  of  me,  wasn't  it  ?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  exactly.  But  it  was  a  wonderful 
game.  Of  course,  one  doesn't  play  tennis  like  a  fight, 
I  suppose." 

"No!  You  are  quite  right,  Pat,"  replied  Captain  Jack. 
"You  see,  I'm  afraid  I  lost  my  temper  a  bit,  which  is 
horribly  bad  form  I  know,  and — well,  I  wanted  to  fight 
rather  than  play,  and  of  course  one  couldn't  fight  on  the 
tennis  court  in  the  presence  of  a  lot  of  ladies,  you  see." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  you  didn't  fight,  Captain  Jack.  You 
have  had  enough  of  fighting,  haven't  you?  And  Rupert 
is  really  very  nice,  you  know.  He  has  a  wonderful  car 
and  he  lets  me  drive  it,  and  he  always  brings  a  box  of 
chocolates  every  time  he  comes." 

"He  must  be  perfectly  lovely,"  said  Captain  Jack,  with 
a  grin  at  her. 

The  girl  laughed  a  laugh  of  such  infectious  jollity  that 
Captain  Jack  was  forced  to  join  with  her. 

"That's  one  for  you,  Captain  Jack,"  she  cried.  "I  know 
I  am  a  pig  where  chocs  are  concerned,  and  I  do  love  to 
drive  a  car.  But,  really,  Rupert  is  quite  nice.  He  is  so 
funny.  He  makes  Mamma  laugh.  Though  he  does  tease 
me  a  lot." 

Captain  Jack  drove  on  in  silence  for  some  moments. 

"I  was  glad  to  see  you  playing  though  to-day,  Captain 
Jack." 

"Where  were  you?    I  didn't  see  you  anywhere." 

"Not  likely!"  She  glanced  behind  her  at  the  others 
in  the  back  seat.  She  need  not  have  given  them  a  thought, 
they  were  too  deeply  engrossed  to  heed  her.  "Do  you 
know  where  I  was?  In  the  crutch  of  the  big  elm — you 
know!" 

[22] 


THE  GAME 


"Don't  I!"  said  Captain  Jack.  "A  splendid  seat, 
but " 

"Wouldn't  Adrien  be  shocked?"  said  the  girl,  with  a 
deliciously  mischievous  twinkle  in  her  eye.  "Or,  at  least, 
she  would  pretend  to  be.  Adrien  thinks  she  must  train 
me  down  a  bit,  you  know.  She  says  I  have  most  awful 
manners.  She  wants  Mamma  to  send  me  over  to  Eng- 
land to  her  school.  But  I  don't  want  to  go,  you  bet. 
Besides,  I  don't  think  Dad  can  afford  it  so  they  can't 
send  me.  Anyway,  I  could  have  good  manners  if  I 
wanted  to.  I  could  act  just  like  Adrien  if  I  wanted  to — • 
I  mean,  for  a  while.  But  that  was  a  real  game.  I  felt 
sorry  for  Rupert,  a  little.  You  see,  he  didn't  seem  to 
know  what  to  do  or  how  to  begin.  And  you  looked  so 
terrible !  Now  in  the  game  with  Cousin  Sidney  you  were 
so  different,  and  you  played  so  awfully  well,  too,  but 
differently.  Somehow,  it  was  just  like  gentlemen  play- 
ing, you  know " 

"You  have  hit  it,  Patsy, — a  regular  bull !"  said  Captain 
Jack. 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean "  began  the  girl  in  confusion, 

rare  with  her. 

"Yes,  you  do,  Pat.    Stick  to  your  guns." 

"Well,  I  will.  The  first  game  everybody  loved  to 
watch.  The  second  game — somehow  it  made  me  wish 
Rupert  had  been  a  Hun.  I'd  have  loved  it  then." 

"By  Jove,  Patsy,  you're  right  on  the  target.  You've 
scored  again." 

"Oh,  I'm  not  saying  just  what  I  want — but  I  hope  you 
know  what  I  mean." 

"Your  meaning  hits  me  right  in  the  eye.  And  you 
are  quite  right.  The  tennis  court  is  no  place  for  a  fight, 
eh  ?  And,  after  all,  Rupert  Stillwell  is  no  Hun." 

"But  you  haven't  been  playing  this  summer  at  all, 

[23] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


Captain  Jack,"  said  the  girl,  changing  the  subject.  "Why 
not  ?"  The  girl's  tone  was  quite  severe.  "And  you  don't 
do  a  lot  of  things  you  used  to  do,  and  you  don't  go  to 
places,  and  you  are  different."  The  blue  eyes  earnestly 
searched  his  face. 

"Am  I  different?"  he  asked  slowly.  "Well,  every- 
body is  different  And  then,  you  know,  I  am  busy.  A 
business  man  has  his  hours  and  he  must  stick  to  them." 

"Oh,  I  don't  believe  you  a  bit.  You  don't  need  to  be 
down  at  the  mills  all  the  time.  Look  at  Rupert.  He 
doesn't  need  to  be  at  his  father's  office." 

"Apparently  not." 

"He  gets  off  whenever  he  wants  to." 

"Looks  like  it." 

"And  why  can't  you?" 

"Well,  you  see,  I  am  not  Rupert,"  said  Captain  Jack, 
grinning  at  her. 

"Now  you  are  horrible.  Why  don't  you  do  as  you 
used  to  do?  You  know  you  could  if  you  wanted  to." 

"Yes,  I  suppose,  if  I  wanted  to,"  said  Captain  Jack, 
suddenly  grave. 

"You  don't  want  to,"  said  the  girl,  quick  to  catch  his 
mood. 

"Well,  you  know,  Patsy  dear,  things  are  different,  and 
I  suppose  I  am  too.  I  don't  care  much  for  a  lot  of 
things." 

"You  just  look  as  if  you  didn't  care  for  anything  or 
anybody  sometimes,  Captain  Jack,"  said  Patricia  quietly. 
Then  after  a  few  moments  she  burst  forth:  "Oh,  don't 
you  remember  your  hockey  team  ?  Oh !  oh !  oh !  I  used 
to  sit  and  just  hold  my  heart  from  jumping.  It  nearly 
used  to  choke  me  when  you  would  tear  down  the  ice  with 
the  puck." 

[24] 


THE  GAME 


"That  was  long  ago,  Pat  dear.  I  guess  I  was — ah — 
very  young  then,  eh?" 

"Yes,  I  know,"  nodded  the  girl.  "I  feel  the  same  way 
— I  was  just  a  kid  then." 

"Ah,  yes,"  said  Captain  Jack,  with  never  a  smile.  "You 
were  just — let's  see — twelve,  was  it?" 

"Yes,  twelve.    And  I  felt  just  a  kid." 

"And  now?"  Captain  Jack's  voice  was  quite  grave. 

"Now?  Well,  I  am  not  exactly  a  kid.  At  least,  not 
the  same  kind  of  kid.  And,  as  you  say,  a  lot  of  things 
are  different.  I  think  I  know  how  you  feel.  I  was  like 

that,  too — after — after — Herbert "  The  girl  paused, 

with  her  lips  quivering.  "It  was  all  different — so  dif- 
ferent. Everything  we  used  to  do,  I  didn't  feel  like 
doing.  And  I  suppose  that's  the  way  with  you,  Captain 
Jack,  with  Andy — and  then  your  Mother,  too."  She 
leaned  close  to  him  and  put  her  hand  timidly  on  his  arm. 

Captain  Jack,  sitting  up  very  straight  and  looking  very 
grave,  felt  the  thrill  of  tha|  timid  touch  run  through  his 
very  heart.  A  rush  of  warm,  tender  emotion  such  as  he 
had  not  allowed  himself  for  many  months  suddenly  sur- 
prised him,  filling  his  eyes  and  choking  his  throat.  Since 
his  return  from  the  war  he  had  without  knowledge  been 
yearning  for  just  such  an  understanding  touch  as  this 
child  with  her  womanly  instinct  had  given  him.  He 
withdrew  one  hand  from  the  wheel  and  took  the  warm 
clinging  fingers  tight  in  his  and  waited  in  silence  till 
he  was  sure  of  himself.  He  drove  some  blocks  before  he 
was  quite  master  of  his  voice.  Then,  releasing  the  fin- 
gers, he  turned  his  face  toward  the  girl. 

"You  are  a  real  pal,  aren't  you,  Patsy  old  girl?"  he 
said  with  a  very  bright  smile  at  her. 

"I  want  to  be!     Oh,  I  would  love  to  be!"  she  said, 

05] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


with  a  swift  intake  of  breath.     "And  after  a  while  you 
will  be  just  as  you  were  before  you  went  away." 

"Hardly,  I  fear,  Patsy." 

"Well,  not  the  same,  but  different  from  what  you  are 
now.  No,  I  don't  mean  that  a  bit,  Captain  Jack.  But 
perhaps  you  know — I  do  want  to  see  you  on  the  ice  again. 
Oh,  it  would  be  wonderful!  Of  course,  the  old  team 
wouldn't  be  there — Herbert  and  Phil  and  Andy.  Why! 
You  are  the  only  one  left!  And  Rupert."  She  added 
the  name  doubtfully.  "It  woidd  be  different!  oh,  so 
different!  Oh!  I  don't  wonder  you  don't  care,  Captain 

Jack.     I  won't  wonder "     There  was  a  little  choke 

in  the  young  voice.     "I  see  it  now " 

"I  think  you  understand,  Patsy,  and  you  are  a  little 
brick,"  said  Captain  Jack  in  a  low,  hurried  tone.  "And 
I  am  going  to  try.  Anyway,  whatever  happens,  we  will 
be  pals." 

The  girl  caught  his  arm  tight  in  her  clasped  hands  and 
in  a  low  voice  she  said,  "Always  and  always,  Captain 
Jack,  and  evermore."  And  till  they  drew  up  at  the  Rec- 
tory door  no  more  was  said. 

Maitland  drove  homeward  through  the  mellow 
autumn  evening  with  a  warmer,  kindlier  glow  in  his 
heart  than  he  had  known  through  all  the  dreary  weeks 
that  had  followed  his  return  from  the  war.  For  the  war 
had  wrought  desolation  for  him  in  a  home  once  rich  in 
the  things  that  make  life  worth  while,  by  taking  from  it 
his  mother,  whose  rare  soul  qualities  had  won  and  held 
through  her  life  the  love,  the  passionate,  adoring  love  of 
her  sons,  and  his  twin  brother,  the  comrade,  chum,  friend 
of  all  his  days,  with  whose  life  his  own  had  grown  into 
a  complete  and  ideal  unity,  deprived  of  whom  his  life 
was  left  like  a  body  from  whose  raw  and  quivering  flesh 
one-half  had  been  torn  away. 
[26] 


THE  GAME 


The  war  had  left  his  life  otherwise  bruised  and  maimed 
in  ways  known  only  to  himself. 

Returning  thus  from  his  soul-devastating  experience 
of  war  to  find  his  life  desolate  and  maimed  in  all  that 
gave  it  value,  he  made  the  appalling  discovery  that  he 
was  left  almost  alone  of  all  whom  he  had  known  and 
loved  in  past  days.  For  of  his  close  friends  none  were 
left  as  before.  For  the  most  part  they  were  lying  on  one 
or  other  of  the  five  battle  fronts  of  the  war.  Others  had 
found  service  in  other  spheres.  Only  one  was  still  in  his 
home  town,  poor  old  Phil  Amory,  Frances'  brother,  half- 
blind  in  his  darkened  room,  but  to  bring  anything  of  his 
own  heart  burden  to  that  brave  soul  seemed  sacrilege  or 
worse.  True  enough,  he  was  passing  through  the  new 
and  thrilling  experience  of  making  acquaintance  with  his 
father.  But  old  Grant  Maitland  was  a  hard  man  to 
know,  and  they  were  too  much  alike  in  their  reserve  and 
in  their  poverty  of  self-expression  to  make  mutual  ac- 
quaintance anything  but  a  slow  and  in  some  ways  a  pain- 
ful process. 

Hence  in  Maitland's  heart  there  was  an  almost  ex- 
travagant gratitude  toward  this  young  generous-hearted 
girl  whose  touch  had  thrilled  his  heart  and  whose  voice 
with  its  passionate  note  of  loyal  and  understanding  com- 
radeship still  sang  like  music  in  his  soul,  "Always  and 
always,  Captain  Jack,  and  evermore." 

"By  Jove,  I  have  got  to  find  some  way  of  playing  up 
to  that,"  he  said  aloud,  as  he  turned  from  the  gravelled 
driveway  into  the  street.  And  in  the  months  that  fol- 
lowed he  was  to  find  that  the  search  to  which  he  then 
committed  himself  was  to  call  for  the  utmost  of  the 
powers  of  soul  which  were  his. 


[271 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   COST   OF   SACRIFICE 

Perrotte  was  by  all  odds  the  best  all-round  man  in  the 
planing  mill,  and  for  the  simple  reason  that  for  fifteen 
years  he  had  followed  the  lumber  from  the  raw  wood 
through  the  various  machines  till  he  knew  woods  and 
machines  and  their  ways  as  no  other  in  the  mill  unless 
it  was  old  Grant  Maitland  himself.  Fifteen  years  ago 
Perrotte  had  drifted  down  from  the  woods,  beating  his 
way  on  a  lumber  train,  having  left  his  winter's  pay  behind 
him  at  the  verge  of  civilisation,  with  old  Joe  Barbeau 
and  Joe's  "chucker  out."  It  was  the  "chucker  out"  that 
dragged  him  out  of  the  "snake  room"  and,  all  unwitting, 
had  given  him  a  flying  start  toward  a  better  life.  Perrotte 
came  to  Maitland  when  the  season's  work  was  at  its 
height  and  every  saw  and  planer  were  roaring  night  and 
day. 

"Want  a  job?"  Maitland  had  shouted  over  the  tearing 
saw  at  him.  "What  can  you  do?" 

"(H)axe-man  me,"  growled  Perrotte,  looking  up  at 
him,  half  wistful,  half  sullen. 

"See  that  slab?  Grab  it,  pile  it  yonder.  The  boards, 
slide  over  the  shoot."  For  these  were  still  primitive  days 
for  labor-saving  devices,  and  men  were  still  the  cheapest 
thing  about  a  mill. 

Perrotte  grabbed  the  slab,  heaved  it  down  to  its  pile 
of  waste,  the  next  board  he  slid  into  the  shoot,  and  so 
continued  till  noon  found  him  pale  and  staggering. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  said  Maitland. 
[28] 


THE  COST  OF  SACRIFICE 


"Netting — me  bon,"  said  Perrotte,  and,  clutching  at 
the  door  jamb,  hung  there  gasping. 

Maitland's  keen  blue  eyes  searched  his  face.  "Huh! 
When  did  you  last  eat?  Come!  No  lying!" 

"Two  day,"  said  Perrotte,  fighting  for  breath  and  nerve. 

"Here,  boy,"  shouted  Maitland  to  a  chore  lad  slouch- 
ing by,  "jump  for  that  cook  house  and  fetch  a  cup  of 
coffee,  and  be  quick." 

The  boss'  tone  injected  energy  into  the  gawky  lad.  In 
three  minutes  Perrotte  was  seated  on  a  pile  of  slabs,  drink- 
ing a  cup  of  coffee;  in  five  minutes  more  he  stood  up, 
ready  for  "(h)anny  man,  (h)anny  ting."  But  Maitland 
took  him  to  the  cook. 

"Fill  this  man  up,"  he  said,  "and  then  show  him  where 
to  sleep.  And,  Perrotte,  to-morrow  morning  at  seven 
you  be  at  the  tail  of  the  saw." 

"Oui,  by  gar !  Perrotte  be  dere.  And  you  got  one  good 
man  too-day,  for  sure." 

That  was  fifteen  years  ago,  and,  barring  certain  "jubi- 
lations," Perrotte  made  good  his  prophecy.  He  brought 
up  from  the  Ottawa  his  Irish  wife,  a  clever  woman  with 
her  tongue  but  a  housekeeper  that  scandalised  her  thrifty, 
tidy,  French-Canadian  mother-in-law,  and  his  two  chil- 
dren, a  boy  and  a  girl.  Under  the  supervision  of  his  boss 
he  made  for  his  family  a  home  and  for  himself  an  as- 
sured place  in  the  Blackwater  Mills.  His  children  fell 
into  the  hands  of  a  teacher  with  a  true  vocation  for  his 
great  work  and  a  passion  for  young  life.  Under  his 
hand  the  youth  of  the  rapidly  growing  mill  village  were 
saved  from  the  sordid  and  soul-debasing  influences  of 
their  environment,  were  led  out  of  the  muddy  streets  and 
can-strewn  back  yards  to  those  far  heights  where  dwell 
the  high  gods  of  poesy  and  romance.  From  the  master, 
too,  they  learned  to  know  their  own  wonderful  woods 

[29] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


out  of  which  the  near-by  farms  had  been  hewn.  Many 
a  home,  too,  owed  its  bookshelf  to  Alex.  Day's  unob- 
trusive suggestions. 

The  Perrotte  children  were  prepared  for  High  School 
by  the  master's  quiet  but  determined  persistence.  To  the 
father  he  held  up  the  utilitarian  advantages  of  an  edu- 
cation. 

"Your  boy  is  quick — why  should  not  Tony  be  a  mas- 
ter of  men  some  day?  Give  him  a  chance  to  climb." 

"Oui,  by  gar !  Antoine  he's  smart  lee'le  feller.  I  mak 
him  steeck  on  his  book,  you  mak  him  one  big  boss  on  some 
mill." 

To  the  mother  the  master  spoke  of  social  advantages. 
The  empty-headed  Irish  woman  who  had  all  the  quick 
wit  and  cleverness  of  tongue  characteristic  of  her  race 
was  determined  that  her  girl  Annette  should  learn  to  be 
as  stylish  as  "them  that  tho't  themselves  her  betters."  So 
the  children  were  kept  at  school  by  their  fondly  ambi- 
tious parents,  and  the  master  did  the  rest. 

At  the  Public  School,  that  greatest  of  all  democratic 
institutions,  the  Perrotte  children  met  the  town  youth  of 
their  own  age,  giving  and  taking  on  equal  terms,  shar- 
ing common  privileges  and  advantages  and  growing  into 
a  community  solidarity  all  their  own,  which  in  later  years 
brought  its  own  harvest  of  mingling  joy  and  bitterness, 
but  which  on  the  whole  made  for  sound  manhood  and 
womanhood. 

With  the  girl  Annette  one  effect  of  the  Public  School 
and  its  influences,  educational  and  social,  was  to  reveal 
to  her  the  depth  of  the  educational  and  social  pit  from 
which  she  had  been  taken.  Her  High  School  training 
might  have  fitted  her  for  the  teaching  profession  and 
completed  her  social  emancipation  but  for  her  vain  and 
thriftless  mother,  who,  socially  ambitious  for  herself  but 

[30] 


THE  COST  OF  SACRIFICE 


more  for  her  handsome,  clever  children,  found  herself 
increasingly  embarrassed  for  funds.  She  lacked  the 
means  with  which  to  suitably  adorn  herself  and  her  chil- 
dren for  the  station  in  life  to  which  she  aspired  and  for 
which  good  clothes  were  the  prime  equipment  and  to 
"eddicate"  Tony  as  he  deserved.  Hence  when  Annette 
had  completed  her  second  year  at  the  High  School  her 
mother  withdrew  her  from  the  school  and  its  associations 
and  found  her  a  place  in  the  new  Fancy  Box  Factory, 
where  girls  could  obtain  "an  illigant  and  refoined  job 
with  good  pay  as  well." 

This  change  in  Annette's  outlook  brought  wrathful  dis- 
appointment to  the  head  master,  Alex.  Day,  who  had 
taken  a  very  special  pride  in  Annette's  brilliant  school 
career  and  who  had  outlined  for  her  a  University  course. 
To  Annette  herself  the  ending  of  her  school  days  was  a 
bitter  grief,  the  bitterness  of  which  would  have  been 
greatly  intensified  had  she  been  able  to  measure  the  mag- 
nitude of  the  change  to  be  wrought  in  her  life  by  her 
mother's  foolish  vanity  and  unwise  preference  of  her 
son's  to  her  daughter's  future. 

The  determining  factor  in  Annette's  submission  to  her 
mother's  will  was  consideration  for  her  brother  and  his 
career.  For  while  for  her  father  she  cherished  an  affec- 
tionate pride  and  for  her  mother  an  amused  and  protec- 
tive pity,  her  great  passion  was  for  her  brother — her 
handsome,  vivacious,  audacious  and  mercurial  brother, 
Tony.  With  him  she  counted  it  only  joy  to  share  her  all 
too  meagre  wages  whenever  he  found  himself  in  finan- 
cial straits.  And  a  not  infrequent  situation  this  was  with 
Tony,  who,  while  he  seemed  to  have  inherited  from  his 
mother  the  vivacity,  quick  wit  and  general  empty-head- 
edness,  from  his  father  got  nothing  of  the  thrift  and 
patient  endurance  of  grinding  toil  characteristic  of  the 

" 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


French-Canadian  habitant.  But  he  did  get  from  his 
father  a  capacity  for  the  knowing  and  handling  of  ma- 
chinery which  amounted  almost  to  genius.  Of  the  fa- 
ther's steadiness  under  the  grind  of  daily  work  which 
had  made  him  the  head  mechanic  in  the  Mill,  Tony  pos- 
sessed not  a  tittle.  What  he  could  get  easily  he  got,  and 
getting  this  fancied  himself  richly  endowed,  knowing  not 
how  slight  and  superficial  is  the  equipment  for  life's  stern 
fight  that  comes  without  sweat  of  brain  and  body.  His 
cleverness  deceived  first  himself  and  then  his  family,  who 
united  in  believing  him  to  be  destined  for  high  place  and 
great  things.  Only  two  of  those  who  had  to  do  with  him 
in  his  boyhood  weighed  him  in  the  balance  of  truth.  One 
was  his  Public  School  master,  who  labored  with  inces- 
sant and  painful  care  to  awaken  in  him  some  glimmer  of 
the  need  of  preparation  for  that  bitter  fight  to  which 
every  man  is  appointed.  The  other  was  Grant  Maitland, 
whose  knowledge  of  men  and  of  life,  gained  at  cost  of 
desperate  conflict,  made  the  youth's  soul  an  open  book 
to  him.  Recognising  the  boy's  aptitude,  he  had  in  holi- 
day seasons  set  Tony  behind  the  machines  in  his  planing 
mill,  determined  for  his  father's  sake  to  make  of  him  a 
mechanical  engineer.  To  Tony  each  new  machine  was 
a  toy  to  be  played  with;  in  a  week  or  two  he  had  mas- 
tered it  and  grown  weary  of  it.  Thenceforth  he  slacked 
at  his  work  and  became  a  demoralizing  influence  in  his 
department,  a  source  of  anxiety  to  his  steady-going  fa- 
ther, a  plague  to  his  employer,  till  the  holiday  time  was 
done. 

"Were  you  my  son,  my  lad,  I'd  soon  settle  you,"  Grant 
Maitland  would  say,  when  the  boy  was  ready  to  go  back 
to  his  school.  "You  will  make  a  mess  of  your  life  unless 
you  can  learn  to  stick  at  your  job.  The  roads  are  full  of 
clever  tramps,  remember  that,  my  boy." 

[32] 


But  Tony  only  smiled  his  brilliant  smile  at  him,  as  he 
took  his  pay  envelope,  which  burned  a  hole  in  his  pocket 
till  he  had  done  with  it.  When  the  next  holiday  came 
round  Tony  would  present  himself  for  a  job  with  Jack 
Maitland  to  plead  for  him.  For  to  Tony  Jack  was  as 
king,  to  whom  he  gave  passionate  loyalty  without  stint  or 
measure.  And  thus  for  his  son  Jack's  sake,  Jack's  father 
took  Tony  on  again,  resolved  to  make  another  effort  to 
make  something  out  of  him. 

The  bond  between  the  two  boys  was  hard  to  analyse. 
In  games  at  Public  and  High  School  Jack  was  always 
Captain  and  Tony  his  right-hand  man,  held  to  his  place 
and  his  training  partly  by  his  admiring  devotion  to  his 
Captain  but  more  by  a  wholesome  dread  of  the  inexor- 
able disciplinary  measures  which  slackness  or  trifling  with 
the  rules  of  the  game  would  inevitably  bring  him.  Jack 
Maitland  was  the  one  being  in  Tony's  world  who  could 
put  lasting  fear  into  his  soul  or  steadiness  into  his  prac- 
tice. But  even  Jack  at  times  failed. 

Then  when  both  were  eighteen  they  went  to  the  War, 
Jack  as  an  Officer,  Tony  as  a  Non-Commissioned  Offi- 
cer in  the  same  Battalion,  Jack  hating  the  bloody  business 
but  resolute  to  play  this  great  game  of  duty  as  he  played 
all  games  for  all  that  was  in  him,  Tony  aglow  at  first 
with  the  movement  and  glitter  and  later  mad  with  the 
lust  for  deadly  daring  that  was  native  to  his  Keltic  Gallic 
soul.  They  returned  with  their  respective  decorations  of 
D.  S.  O.  and  Military  Medal  and  each  with  the  stamp  of 
war  cut  deep  upon  him,  in  keeping  with  the  quality  of 
his  soul. 

The  return  to  peace  was  to  them,  as  to  the  thousands 
of  their  comrades  to  whom  it  was  given  to  return,  a  shock 
almost  as  great  as  had  been  the  adventure  of  war.  In  a 
single  day  while  still  amid  the  scenes  and  with  all  the 

[33] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


paraphernalia  of  war  about  them  an  unreal  and  bewilder- 
ing silence  had  fallen  on  them.  Like  men  in  the  un- 
earthly realities  of  a  dream  they  moved  through  their 
routine  duties,  waiting  for  the  orders  that  would  bring 
that  well-known,  sickening,  savage  tightening  of  their 
courage  and  send  them,  laden  like  beasts  of  burden,  up 
once  more  to  that  hell  of  blood  and  mud,  of  nerve- 
shattering  shell,  of  blinding  glare  and  ear-bursting  roar 
of  gun  fire,  and,  worse  than  all,  to  the  place  where, 
crouching  in  the  farcical  deceptive  shelter  of  the  sand- 
bagged trench,  their  fingers  gripping  into  the  steel  of 
their  rifle  bands,  they  would  wait  for  the  zero  hour.  But 
as  the  weeks  passed  and  the  orders  failed  to  come  they 
passed  from  that  bewildering  and  subconscious  anxious 
waiting,  to  an  experience  of  wildly  exultant,  hysterical 
abandonment.  They  were  done  with  all  that  long  horror 
and  terror ;  they  were  never  to  go  back  into  it  again ;  they 
were  going  back  home;  the  New  Day  had  dawned;  war 
was  no  more,  nor  ever  would  be  again.  Back  to  home,  to 
waiting  hearts,  to  shining  eyes,  to  welcoming  arms,  to 
peace,  they  were  going. 

Thereafter,  when  some  weeks  of  peace  had  passed  and 
the  drums  of  peace  had  fallen  quiet  and  the  rushing, 
crowding,  hurrahing  people  had  melted  away,  and  the 
streets  and  roads  were  filled  again  with  men  and  women 
bent  on  business,  with  engagements  to  keep,  the  returned 
men  found  themselves  with  dazed,  listless  mind  waiting 
for  orders  from  someone,  somewhere,  or  for  the  next 
movie  show  to  open.  But  they  were  unwilling  to  take  on 
the  humdrum  of  making  a  living,  and  were  in  most  cases 
incapable  of  initiating  a  congenial  method  of  employing 
their  powers,  their  new-found,  splendid,  glorious  powers, 
by  means  of  which  they  had  saved  an  empire  and  a  world. 
They  had  become  common  men  again,  they  in  whose  souls 

[34] 


THE  COST  OF  SACRIFICE 


but  a  few  weeks  ago  had  flamed  the  glory  and  splendour 
of  a  divine  heroism! 

Small  wonder  that  some  of  these  men,  tingling  with 
the  consciousness  of  powers  of  which  these  busy,  engaged 
people  of  the  streets  and  shops  knew  nothing,  turned  with 
disdain  from  the  petty,  paltry,  many  of  them  non-manly 
tasks  that  men  pursued  solely  that  they  might  live.  Live ! 
For  these  last  terrible,  great  and  glorious  fifty  months 
they  had  schooled  themselves  to  the  notion  that  the  main 
business  of  life  was  not  to  live.  There  had  been  for  them 
a  thing  to  do  infinitely  more  worth  while  than  to  live. 
Indeed,  had  they  been  determined  at  all  costs  to  live,  then 
they  had  become  to  themselves,  to  their  comrades,  and 
indeed  to  all  the  world,  the  most  despicable  of  all  living 
things,  deserving  and  winning  the  infinite  contempt  of  all 
true  men. 

While  the  "gratuity  money"  lasted  life  went  merrily 
enough,  but  when  the  last  cheque  had  been  cashed,  and 
the  grim  reality  that  rations  had  ceased  and  Q.  M.  Stores 
were  not  longer  available  thrust  itself  vividly  into  the  face 
of  the  demobilised  veteran,  and  when  after  experiencing 
in  job  hunting  varying  degrees  of  humiliation  the  same 
veteran  made  the  startling  and  painful  discovery  that  for 
his  wares  of  heroic  self-immolation,  of  dogged  endur- 
ance done  up  in  khaki,  there  was  no  demand  in  the 
bloodless  but  none  the  less  strenuous  conflict  of  living; 
and  that  other  discovery,  more  disconcerting,  that  he  was 
not  the  man  he  had  been  in  pre-war  days  and  thought 
himself  still  to  be,  but  quite  another,  then  he  was  ready 
for  one  of  two  alternatives,  to  surrender  to  the  inevitable 
dictum  that  after  all  life  was  really  not  worth  a  fight, 
more  particularly  if  it  could  be  sustained  without  one, 
or,  to  fling  his  hat  into  the  Bolshevist  ring,  ready  for  the 
old  thing,  war — war  against  the  enemies  of  civilisation 

[35] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


and  his  own  enemies,  against  those  who  possessed  things 
which  he  very  much  desired  but  which  for  some  inex- 
plicable cause  he  was  prevented  from  obtaining. 

The  former  class,  to  a  greater  or  less  degree,  Jack  Mait- 
land  represented;  the  latter,  Tony  Perrotte.  From  their 
war  experience  they  were  now  knit  together  in  bonds  that 
ran  into  life  issues.  Together  they  had  faced  war's  ulti- 
mate horror,  together  they  had  emerged  with  imperish- 
able memories  of  sheer  heroic  manhood  mutually  revealed 
in  hours  of  desperate  need. 

At  Jack's  request  Tony  had  been  given  the  position  of 
a  Junior  Foreman  in  one  of  the  planing  mill  departments, 
with  the  promise  of  advancement. 

"You  can  have  anything  you  are  fit  for,  Tony,  in  any 
of  the  mills.  I  feel  that  I  owe  you,  that  we  both  owe  you 
more  than  we  can  pay  by  any  position  we  can  offer,"  was 
Grant  Maitland's  word. 

"Mr.  Maitland,  neither  you  nor  Jack  owes  me  any- 
thing. Jack  has  paid,  and  more  than  once,  all  he  owed 
me.  But,"  with  a  rueful  smile,  "don't  expect  too  much 
from  me  in  this  job.  I  can't  see  myself  making  it  go." 

"Give  it  a  big  try.  Do  your  best.  I  ask  no  more," 
said  Mr.  Maitland. 

"My  best?  That's  a  hard  thing.  Give  me  a  bayonet 
and  set  some  Huns  before  me,  and  I'll  do  my  best.  This 
is  different  somehow." 

"Different,  yet  the  same.  The  same  qualities  make 
for  success.  You  have  the  brains  and  with  your  gift  for 
machinery — Well,  try  it.  You  and  Jack  here  will  make 
this  go  between  you,  as  you  made  the  other  go." 

The  door  closed  on  the  young  man. 

"Will  he  make  good,  Jack  ?"  said  the  father,  anxiously. 

"Will  any  of  us  make  good?" 

"You  will,  Jack,  I  know.     You  can  stick." 

[36] 


THE  COST  OF  SACRIFICE 


"Yes,  I  can  stick,  I  suppose,  but,  after  all — well,  we'll 
have  a  go  at  it,  anyway.  But,  like  Tony,  I  feel  like  say- 
ing, 'Don't  expect  too  much.' ' 

"Only  your  best,  Jack,  that's  all.  Take  three  months, 
six  months,  a  year,  and  get  hold  of  the  office  end  of  the 
business.  You  have  brains  enough.  I  want  a  General 
Manager  right  now,  Wickes  is  hardly  up  to  it.  He  knows 
the  books  and  he  knows  the  works  but  he  knows  nothing 
else.  He  doesn't  know  men  nor  markets.  He  is  an  office 
man  pure  and  simple,  and  he's  old,  too  old.  The  fact  is, 
Jack,  I  have  to  be  my  own  Manager  inside  and  outside. 
My  foremen  are  good,  loyal,  reliable  fellows,  but  they 
only  know  their  orders.  I  want  someone  to  stand  be- 
side me.  The  plant  has  been  doubled  in  capacity  during 
the  war.  We  did  a  lot  of  war  work — aeroplane  parts. 
We  got  the  spruce  in  the  raw  and  worked  it  up,  good 
work,  too,  if  I  do  say  it  myself.  No  better  was  done," 

"I  know  something  about  that,  Dad.  I  had  a  day  with 
Badgley  in  Toronto.  I  know  something  about  it,  and  I 
know  where  the  money  went,  too,  Dad." 

"The  money?  Of  course,  I  couldn't  take  the  money 
— how  could  I  with  my  boys  at  the  war,  and  other  men's 
boys?" 

"Rather  not.  My  God,  Dad,  if  I  thought !  But 

what's  the  use  talking?  They  know  in  London  all  about 
the  Ambulance  Equipment  and  the  Machine  Gun  Battery, 
and  the  Hospital.  Do  you  know  why  Caramus  took  a 
job  in  the  Permanent  Force  in  England?  It  was  either 
that  or  blowing  out  his  brains.  He  could  not  face  his 
father,  a  war  millionaire.  My  God,  how  could  he?" 

The  boy  was  walking  about  his  room  with  face  white 
and  lips  quivering. 

"Caramus  was  in  charge  of  that  Machine  Gun  Sec- 
tion that  held  the  line  and  let  us  get  back.  Every  man 

[37] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


wiped  out,  and  Caramus  carried  back  smashed  to  small 
pieces — and  his  father  making  a  million  out  of  muni- 
tions! My  God!  My  God!" 

A  silence  fell  in  the  room  for  a  minute. 

"Poor  old  Caramus !  I  saw  him  in  the  City  a  month 
ago,"  said  the  father.  "I  pitied  the  poor  wretch.  He  was 
alone  in  the  Club,  not  a  soul  would  speak  to  him.  He  has 
got  his  hell." 

"He  deserves  it — all  of  it,  and  all  who  like  him  have 
got  fat  on  blood  money.  Do  you  know,  Dad,  when  I  see 
those  men  going  about  in  the  open  and  no  one  kicking 
them  I  get  fairly  sick.  I  don't  wonder  at  some  of  the 
boys  seeing  red.  You  mark  my  words,  we  are  going  to 
have  bad  times  in  this  country  before  long/* 

"I  am  afraid  of  it,  boy.  Things  look  ugly.  Even  in 
our  own  works  I  feel  a  bad  spirit  about.  There  are  some 
newcomers  from  the  old  country  whom  I  can't  say  I  ad- 
mire much.  They  grouch  and  they  won't  work.  Our 
production  is  lower  than  ever  in  our  history  and  our  labor 
cost  is  more  than  twice  what  it  was  in  1914." 

"Well,  Dad,  give  them  a  little  time  to  settle  down.  I 
have  no  more  use  for  a  slacker  than  I  have  for  a  war 
millionaire." 

"We  can't  stand  much  of  that  thing.  Financially  we 
are  in  fairly  good  shape.  We  broke  even  with  our  aero- 
plane work.  But  we  have  a  big  stock  of  spruce  on  hand 
— high-priced  stuff,  too — and  a  heavy,  very  heavy  over- 
head. We  shall  weather  it  all  right.  I  don't  mind  the 
wages,  but  we  must  have  production.  And  that's  why  I 
want  you  with  me." 

"You  must  not  depend  on  me  for  much  use  for  some 
time  at  least.  I  know  a  little  about  handling  men  but 
about  machinery  I  know  nothing." 

"Never  fear,  boy,  you've  got  the  machine  instinct  in 
[38] 


THE  COST  OF  SACRIFICE 


you.  I  remember  your  holiday  work  in  the  mill,  you  see. 
But  your  place  is  in  the  office.  Wickes  will  show  you  the 
ropes,  and  you  will  make  good,  I  know.  And  I  just  want 
to  say  that  you  don't  know  how  glad  I  am  to  have  you 
come  in  with  me,  Jack.  If  your  brother  had  come  back 
he  would  have  taken  hold,  he  was  cut  out  for  the  job, 
but " 

"Poor  old  Andy !  He  had  your  genius  for  the  business. 
I  wish  he  had  been  the  one  to  get  back !" 

"We  had  not  the  choosing,  Jack,  and  if  he  had  come 
we  should  have  felt  the  same  about  you.  God  knows 
what  He  is  doing,  and  we  can  only  do  our  best." 

"Well,  Dad,"  said  Jack,  rising  and  standing  near  his 
father's  chair,  "as  I  said  before,  I'll  make  a  go  at  it,  but 
don't  count  too  much  on  me." 

"I  am  counting  a  lot  on  you.  You  are  all  I  have  now." 
The  father's  voice  ended  in  a  husky  whisper.  The  boy 
swallowed  the  rising  lump  in  his  throat  but  could  find  no 
more  words  to  go  on  with.  But  in  his  heart  there  was 
the  resolve  that  he  would  make  an  honest  try  to  do  for 
his  father's  sake  what  he  would  not  for  his  own. 

But  before  a  month  had  gone  he  was  heartily  sick  of 
the  office.  It  was  indoors,  and  the  petty  fussing  with 
trivial  details  irked  him.  Accuracy  was  a  sine  qua  non 
of  successful  office  work,  and  accuracy  is  either  a  thing 
of  natural  gift  or  is  the  result  of  long  and  painful  dis- 
cipline, and  neither  by  nature  nor  by  discipline  had  Jack 
come  into  the  possession  of  this  prime  qualification  for 
a  successful  office  man.  His  ledger  wellnigh  brought 
tears  to  old  Wickes'  eyes  and  added  a  heavy  load  to  his 
day's  work.  Not  that  old  Wickes  grudged  the  extra  bur- 
den, much  less  made  any  complaint;  rather  did  he  count 
it  joy  to  be  able  to  cover  from  other  eyes  than  his  own 

[39] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


the  errors  that  were  inevitably  to  be  found  in  Jack's  daily 
work. 

Had  it  seemed  worth  while,  Jack  would  have  disci- 
plined himself  to  accuracy.  But  what  was  the  end  of  it 
all  ?  A  larger  plant  with  more  machines  to  buy  and  more 
men  to  work  them  and  to  be  overseen  and  to  be  paid,  a 
few  more  figures  in  a  Bank  Book — what  else?  Jack's 
tastes  were  simple.  He  despised  the  ostentation  of  wealth 
in  the  accumulation  of  mere  things.  He  had  only  pity 
for  the  plunger  and  for  the  loose  liver  contempt.  Why 
should  he  tie  himself  to  a  desk,  a  well  appointed  desk  it  is 
true,  but  still  a  desk,  in  a  four-walled  room,  a  much  finer 
room  than  his  father  had  ever  known,  but  a  room  which 
became  to  him  a  cage.  Why?  Of  course,  there  was  his 
father — and  Jack  wearily  turned  to  his  correspondence 
basket,  sick  of  the  sight  of  paper  and  letter  heads  and 
cost  forms  and  production  reports.  For  his  father's  sake, 
who  had  only  him,  he  would  carry  on.  And  carry  on  he 
did,  doggedly,  wearily,  bored  to  death,  but  sticking  it. 
The  reports  from  the  works  were  often  ominous.  Things 
were  not  going  well.  There  was  an  undercurrent  of  un- 
rest among  the  men. 

"I  don't  wonder  at  it,"  said  Jack  to  old  Wickes  one 
day,  when  the  bookkeeper  set  before  him  the  week's  pay 
sheet  and  production  sheet,  side  by  side.  "After  all, 
why  should  the  poor  devils  work  for  us?" 

"For  us,  sir?"  said  the  shocked  Wickes.  "For  them- 
selves, surely.  What  would  they  do  for  a  living  if  there 
was  no  work?" 

"That's  just  it,  Wickes.  They  get  a  living — is  it 
worth  while?" 

"But,  sir,"  gasped  the  old  man,  "they  must  live, 
and " 

"Why  must  they?'* 

[40] 


THE  COST  OF  SACRIFICE 


"Because  they  want  to!  Wait  till  you  see  'em  sick, 
sir.  My  word!  They  do  make  haste  for  the  Doctor." 

"I  fancy  they  do,  Wickes.  But  all  the  same,  I  don't 
wonder  that  they  grouch  a  bit." 

"  Tis  not  the  grumbling,  sir,  I  deplore,"  said  Wickes, 
"if  they  would  only  work,  or  let  the  machines  work. 
That's  the  trouble,  sir.  Why,  sir,  when  I  came  to  your 
father,  sir,  we  never  looked  at  the  clock,  we  kept  our 
minds  on  the  work." 

"How  long  ago,  Wickes?" 

"Thirty-one  years,  sir,  come  next  Michaelmas.  And 
glad  I  was  to  get  the  job,  too.  You  see,  sir,  I  had  just 
come  to  the  country,  and  with  the  missus  and  a  couple 
of  kids " 

"Thirty-one  years !  Great  Caesar !  And  you've  worked 
at  this  desk  for  thirty-one  years!  And  what  have  you 
got  out  of  it?" 

"Well,  sir,  not  what  you  might  call  a  terrible  lot.  I 
hadn't  the  eddication  for  much,  as  you  might  say — but — 
well,  there's  my  little  home,  and  we've  lived  happy  there, 
the  missus  and  me,  and  the  kids — at  least,  till  the  war 
came."  The  old  man  paused  abruptly. 

"You're  right,  Wickes,  by  Jove,"  exclaimed  Jack,  start- 
ing from  his  seat  and  gripping  the  old  man's  hand.  "You 
have  made  a  lot  out  of  it — and  you  gave  as  fine  a  boy  as 
ever  stepped  in  uniform  to  your  country.  We  were  all 
proud  of  Stephen,  every  man  of  us." 

"I  know  that,  sir,  and  he  often  wrote  the  wife  about 
you,  sir,  which  we  don't  forget,  sir.  Of  course,  it's  hard 
on  her  and  the  boys — just  coming  up  to  be  somethin'  at 
the  school." 

"By  the  way,  Wickes,  how  are  they  doing?  Two  of 
them,  aren't  there?  Let's  see — there's  Steve,  he's  the 
eldest " 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


"No,  sir,  he's  the  youngest,  sir.  Robert  is  the  eldest 
— fourteen,  and  quite  clever  at  his  books.  Pity  he's  got 
to  quit  just  now." 

"Quit?  Not  a  bit  of  it.  We  must  see  to  that.  And 
little  Steve — how  is  the  back  ?" 

"He's  twelve.  The  back  hurts  a  lot,  but  he  is  happy 
enough,  if  you  give  him  a  pencil.  They're  all  with  us 
now." 

"Ah,  well,  well.  I  think  you  have  made  something  out 
of  it  after  all,  Wickes.  And  we  must  see  about  Robert." 

Thirty-one  years  at  the  desk!  And  to  show  for  it  a 
home  for  his  wife  and  himself,  a  daughter  in  a  home  of 
her  own,  a  son  dead  for  his  country,  leaving  behind  him 
a  wife  and  two  lads  to  carry  the  name — was  it  worth 
while?  Yes,  by  Jove,  it  was  worth  it  all  to  be  able  to 
give  a  man  like  Stephen  Wickes  to  his  country.  For 
Stephen  Wickes  was  a  fine  stalwart  lad,  a  good  soldier, 
steady  as  a  rock,  with  a  patient,  cheery  courage  that 
nothing  could  daunt  or  break.  But  for  a  man's  self  was 
it  worth  while  ? 

Jack  had  no  thought  of  wife  and  family.  There  was 
Adrien.  She  had  been  a  great  pal  before  the  war,  but 
since  his  return  she  had  seemed  different.  Everyone 
seemed  different.  The  war  had  left  many  gaps,  former 
pals  had  formed  other  ties,  many  had  gone  from  the  town. 
Even  Adrien  had  drifted  away  from  the  old  currents  of 
life.  She  seemed  to  have  taken  up  with  young  Still  well, 
whom  Jack  couldn't  abide.  Stillwell  had  been  turned 
down  by  the  Recruiting  Officer  during  the  war — flat 
feet,  or  something.  True,  he  had  done  great  service  in 
Red  Cross,  Patriotic  Fund,  Victory  Loan  work,  and  that 
sort  of  thing,  and  apparently  stood  high  in  the  Commu- 
nity. His  father  had  doubled  the  size  of  his  store  and 
had  been  a  great  force  in  all  public  war  work.  He  had 

[42] 


THE  COST  OF  SACRIFICE 


spared  neither  himself  nor  his  son.  The  elder  Stillwell, 
high  up  in  the  Provincial  Political  world,  saw  to  it  that 
his  son  was  on  all  the  big  Provincial  War  Committees. 
Rupert  had  all  the  shrewd  foresight  and  business  ability  of 
his  father,  which  was  saying  a  good  deal.  He  began  to 
assume  the  role  of  a  promising  young  capitalist.  The 
sources  of  his  income  no  one  knew — fortunate  invest- 
ments, people  said.  And  his  Hudson  Six  stood  at  ths 
Rectory  gate  every  day.  Well,  not  even  for  Adrien  would 
Jack  have  changed  places  with  Rupert  Stiliwell.  For  Jack 
Maitland  held  the  extreme  and,  in  certain  circles,  unpopu- 
lar creed  that  the  citizen  who  came  richer  out  of  a  war 
which  had  left  his  country  submerged  in  debt,  and  which 
had  drained  away  its  best  blood  and  left  it  poorer  in  its 
manhood  by  well-nigh  seventy  thousand  of  its  noblest 
youth  left  upon  the  battlefields  of  the  various  war  fronts 
and  by  the  hundreds  of  thousands  who  would  go  through 
life  a  burden  to  themselves  and  to  those  to  whom  they 
should  have  been  a  support — that  citizen  was  accursed.  If 
Adrien  chose  to  be  a  friend  of  such  a  man,  by  that  choice 
she  classified  herself  as  impossible  of  friendship  for  Jack. 
It  had  hurt  a  bit.  But  what  was  one  hurt  more  or  less 
to  one  whom  the  war  had  left  numb  in  heart  and  bereft 
of  ambition?  He  was  not  going  to  pity  himself.  He  was 
lucky  indeed  to  have  his  body  and  nerve  still  sound  and 
whole,  but  they  need  not  expect  him  to  show  any  great 
keenness  in  the  chase  for  a  few  more  thousands  that 
would  only  rank  him  among  those  for  whom  the  war  had 
not  done  so  badly.  Meantime,  for  his  father's  sake,  who, 
thank  God,  had  given  his  best,  his  heart's  best  and  the 
best  of  his  brain  and  of  his  splendid  business  genius  to 
his  country,  he  would  carry  on,  with  no  other  reward 
than  that  of  service  rendered. 


[43] 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  HEATHEN  QUEST 

They  stood  together  by  the  open  fire  in  the  study,  Jack 
and  his  father,  alike  in  many  ways  yet  producing  effects 
very  different.  The  younger  man  had  the  physical  make- 
up of  the  older,  though  of  a  slighter  mould.  They  had 
the  same  high,  proud  look  of  conscious  strength,  of  cool 
fearlessness  that  nothing  could  fluster.  But  the  soul  that 
looked  out  of  the  grey  eyes  of  the  son  was  quite  another 
from  that  which  looked  out  of  the  deep  blue  eyes  of  the 
father — yet,  after  all,  the  difference  may  not  have  been 
in  essence  but  only  that  the  older  man's  soul  had  learned 
in  life's  experience  to  look  out  only  through  a  veil. 

The  soul  of  the  youth  was  eager,  adventurous,  still  be- 
lieving, yet  with  a  certain  questioning  and  a  touch  of 
weariness,  a  result  of  the  aftermath  of  peace  following 
three  years  of  war.  There  was  still,  however,  the  out- 
looking  for  far  horizons,  the  outreaching  imagination, 
the  Heaven  given  expectation  of  the  Infinite.  In  the  old- 
er man's  eye  dwelt  chiefly  reserve.  The  veil  was  always 
there  except  when  he  found  it  wise  and  useful  to  draw 
it  aside.  If  ever  the  inner  light  flamed  forth  it  was  when 
the  man  so  chose.  Self-mastery,  shrewdness,  power, 
knowledge,  lay  in  the  dark  blue  eyes,  and  all  at  the  soul's 
command. 

But  to-night  as  the  father's  eyes  rested  upon  his  son 
who  stood  gazing  into  and  through  the  blazing  fire  there 
were  to  be  seen  only  pride  and  wistful  love.  But  as  the 
son  turned  his  eyes  toward  his  father  the  veil  fell  and  the 

[44] 


THE  HEATHEN  QUEST 


eyes  that  answered  were  quiet,  shrewd,  keen  and  chiefly 
kind. 

The  talk  had  passed  beyond  the  commonplace  of  the 
day's  doings.  They  were  among  the  big  things,  the  fate- 
ful thing — Life  and  Its  Worth,  Work  and  Its  Wages, 
Creative  Industry  and  Its  Product,  Capital  and  Its  Price, 
Man  and  His  Rights. 

They  were  frank  with  each  other.  The  war  had  done 
that  for  them.  For  ever  since  the  night  when  his  eighteen- 
year-old  boy  had  walked  into  his  den  and  said,  "Father, 
I  am  eighteen,"  and  stood  looking  into  his  eyes  and  wait- 
ing for  the  word  that  came  straight  and  unhesitating, 
"I  know,  boy,  you  are  my  son  and  you  must  go,  for  I 
cannot,"  ever  since  that  night,  which  seemed  now  to  be- 
long to  another  age,  these  two  had  faced  each  other  as 
men.  Now  they  were  talking  about  the  young  man's  life 
work. 

"Frankly,  I  don't  like  it,  Dad,"  said  the  son. 

"Easy  to  see  that,  Jack." 

"I'm  really  sorry.  I'm  afraid  anyone  can  see  it.  But 
somehow  I  can't  put  much  pep  into  it." 

"Why?"  asked  the  father,  with  curt  abruptness. 

"Why?  Well,  I  hardly  know.  Somehow  it  hardly 
seems  worth  while.  It  is  not  the  grind  of  the  office, 
though  that  is  considerable.  I  could  stick  that,  but,  after 
all,  what's  the  use?" 

"What  would  you  rather  do,  Jack?"  enquired  his  fa- 
ther patiently,  as  if  talking  to  a  child.  "You  tried  for  the 
medical  profession,  you  know,  and " 

"I  know,  I  know,  you  are  quite  right  about  it.  You 
may  think  it  pure  laziness.  Maybe  it  is,  but  I  hardly 
think  so.  Perhaps  I  went  back  to  lectures  too  soon  after 
the  war.  I  was  hardly  fit,  I  guess,  and  the  whole  thing, 
the  inside  life,  the  infernal  grind  of  lectures,  the  idiotic 

[45] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


serious  mummery  of  the  youngsters,  those  blessed  kids 
who  should  have  been  spanked  by  their  mothers — the 
whole  thing  sickened  me  in  three  months.  If  I  had  wait- 
ed perhaps  I  might  have  done  better  at  the  thing.  I  don't 
know — hard  to  tell."  The  boy  paused,  looking  into  the 
fire. 

"It  was  my  fault,  boy,"  said  the  father  hastily.  "I 
ought  to  have  figured  the  thing  out  differently.  But,  you 
see,  I  had  no  knowledge  of  what  you  had  gone  through 
and  of  its  effect  upon  you.  I  know  better  now.  I  thought 
that  the  harder  you  went  into  the  work  the  better  it  would 
be  for  you.  I  made  a  mistake." 

"Well,  you  couldn't  tell,  Dad.  How  could  you?  But 
everything  was  so  different  when  I  came  back.  Mere 
kids  were  carrying  on  where  we  had  been,  and  doing  it 
well,  too,  by  Jove,  and  we  didn't  seem  to  be  needed." 

"Needed,  boy?"    The  father's  voice  was  thick. 

"Yes,  but  I  didn't  see  that  then.  Selfish,  I  fear.  Then, 
you  know,  home  was  not  the  same " 

The  older  man  choked  back  a  groan  and  leaned  hard 
against  the  mantel. 

"I  know,  Dad,  I  can  see  now  I  was  selfish " 

"Selfish?  Don't  say  that,  my  lad.  Selfish?  After  all 
you  had  gone  through?  No,  I  shall  never  apply  that 

word  to  you,  but  you — you  don't  seem  to  realise ." 

The  father  hesitated  a  few  moments,  then,  as  if  taking 
a  plunge: 

"You  don't  realise  just  how  big  a  thing — how  big  an 

investment  there  is  in  that  business  down  there ."  His 

hand  swept  toward  the  window  through  which  could  be 
seen  the  lights  of  that  part  of  the  town  which  clustered 
about  the  various  mills  and  factories  of  which  he  was 
owner. 

[46] 


THE  HEATHEN  QUEST 


"I  know  there  is  a  lot,  Dad,  but  how  much  I  don't 
know." 

"There's  $250,000  in  plant  alone,  boy,  but  there's  more 

than  money,  a  lot  more  than  money "     Then,  after 

a  pause,  as  if  to  himself,  "A  lot  more  than  money — 
there's  brain  sweat  and  heart  agony  and  prayers  and  tears 
— and,  yes,  life,  boy,  your  mother's  life  and  mine.  We 
worked  and  saved  and  prayed  and  planned " 

He  stepped  quickly  toward  the  window,  drew  aside  the 
curtain  and  pointed  to  a  dark  mass  of  headland  beyond 
the  twinkling  lights. 

"You  see  the  Bluff  there.  Fifty  years  ago  I  stood  with 
my  father  on  that  Bluff  and  watched  the  logs  come  down 
the  river  to  the  sawmill — his  sawmill,  into  which  he  had 
put  his  total  capital,  five  hundred  dollars.  I  remember 
well  his  words,  'My  son,  if  you  live  out  your  life  you  will 
see  on  that  flat  a  town  where  thousands  of  men  and 
women  will  find  homes  and,  please  God,  happiness.'  Your 
mother  and  I  watched  that  town  grow  for  forty  years, 
and  we  tried  to  make  people  happy — at  least,  if  they  were 
not  it  was  no  fault  of  hers.  Of  course,  other  hands  have 
been  at  the  work  since  then,  but  her  hands  and  mine  more 
than  any  other,  and  more  than  all  others  together  were  in 
it,  and  her  heart,  too,  was  in  it  all." 

The  boy  turned  from  the  window  and  sat  down  heav- 
ily in  a  deep  armchair,  his  hands  covering  his  face.  His 
heart  was  still  sick  with  the  ache  that  had  smitten  it  that 
day  in  front  of  Amiens  when  the  Colonel,  his  father's 
friend,  had  sent  for  him  and  read  him  the  wire  which 
had  brought  the  terrible  message  of  his  mother's  death. 
The  long  months  of  days  and  nights  heavy  with  watch- 
ing, toiling,  praying,  agonising,  for  her  twin  sons,  and 
for  the  many  boys  who  had  gone  out  from  the  little  town 
wore  out  her  none  too  robust  strength.  Then,  the  sniper's 

[47] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


bullet  that  had  pierced  the  heart  of  her  boy  seemed  to 
reach  to  her  heart  as  well.  After  that,  the  home  that  once 
had  been  to  its  dwellers  the  most  completely  heart-satis- 
fying spot  in  all  the  world  became  a  place  of  dread,  of 
haunting  ghosts,  of  acutely  poignant  memories.  They 
used  the  house  for  sleeping  in  and  for  eating  in,  but 
there  was  no  living  in  it  longer.  To  them  it  was  a  tomb, 
though  neither  would  acknowledge  it  and  each  bore  with 
it  for  the  other's  sake. 

"Honestly,  Dad,  I  wish  I  could  make  it  go,  for  your 
sake " 

"For  my  sake,  boy?  Why,  I  have  all  of  it  I  care  for. 
Not  for  my  sake.  But  what  else  can  we  do  but  stick  it?" 

"I  suppose  so — but  for  Heaven's  sake  give  me  some- 
thing worth  a  man's  doing.  If  I  could  tackle  a  job  such 
as  you  and" — the  boy  winced — "you  and  mother  took 
on  I  believe  I'd  try  it.  But  that  office !  Any  fool  could 
sit  in  my  place  and  carry  on.  It  is  like  the  job  they  used 
to  give  to  the  crocks  or  the  slackers  at  the  base  to  do. 
Give  me  a  man's  job." 

The  father's  keen  blue  eyes  looked  his  son  over. 

"A  man's  job?"  he  said,  with  a  grim  smile,  realising 
as  his  son  did  not  how  much  of  a  man's  job  it  was. 
"Suppose  you  learn  this  one  as  I  did?" 

"What  do  you  mean,  Dad,  exactly?  How  did  you 
begin?" 

"I?    At  the  tail  of  the  saw." 

"All  right,  I'm  game." 

"Boy,  you  are  right — I  believe  in  my  soul  you  are  right. 
You  did  a  man's  job  'out  there'  and  you  have  it  in  you 
to  do  a  man's  job  again." 

The  son  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Next  morning  at 
seven  they  were  down  at  the  planing  mill  where  men 
were  doing  men's  work.  He  was  at  a  man's  job,  at  the 

[48] 


THE  HEATHEN  QUEST 


tail  of  a  saw,  and  drawing  a  man's  pay,  rubbing  shoul- 
ders with  men  oh  equal  terms,  as  he  had  in  the  trenches. 
And  for  the  first  time  since  Armistice  Day,  if  not  happy 
or  satisfied,  he  was  content  to  carry  on. 


[49] 


CHAPTER  IV 

ANNETTE 

Sam  Wigglesworth  had  finished  with  school,  which  is 
not  quite  the  same  as  saying  that  he  had  finished  his 
education.  A  number  of  causes  had  combined  to  bring 
this  event  to  pass.  First,  Sam  was  beyond  the  age  of 
compulsory  attendance  at  the  Public  School,  the  School 
Register  recording  him  as  sixteen  years  old.  Then,  Sam's 
educational  career  had  been  anything  but  brilliant.  In- 
deed, it  might  fairly  be  described  as  dull.  All  his  life  he 
had  been  behind  his  class,  the  biggest  boy  in  his  class, 
which  fact  might  have  been  to  Sam  a  constant  cause  of 
humiliation  had  he  not  held  as  of  the  slightest  moment 
merely  academic  achievements.  One  unpleasant  effect 
which  this  fact  had  upon  Sam's  moral  quality  was  that 
it  tended  to  make  him  a  bully.  He  was  physically  the 
superior  of  all  in  his  class,  and  this  superiority  he  ex- 
erted for  what  he  deemed  the  discipline  of  younger  and 
weaker  boys,  who  excelled  him  in  intellectual  attainment. 

Furthermore,  Sam,  while  quite  ready  to  enforce  the 
code  of  discipline  which  he  considered  suitable  to  the 
smaller  and  weaker  boys  in  his  class,  resented  and  re- 
sisted the  attempts  of  constituted  authority  to  enforce  dis- 
cipline in  his  own  case,  with  the  result  that  Sam's  edu- 
cational career  was,  after  much  long  suffering,  abruptly 
terminated  by  the  action  of  the  long-suffering  head, 
Alex.  Day. 

"With  great  regret  I  must  report,"  his  letter  to  the 
School  Board  ran,  "that  in  the  case  of  Samuel  Wiggles- 

[50] 


ANNETTE 


worth  I  have  somehow  failed  to  inculcate  the  elementary 
principles  of  obedience  to  school  regulations  and  of  ad- 
herence to  truth  in  speech.  I  am  free  to  acknowledge," 
went  on  the  letter,  "that  the  defect  may  be  in  myself  as 
much  as  in  the  boy,  but  having  failed  in  winning  him  to 
obedience  and  truth-telling,  I  feel  that  while  I  remain 
master  of  the  school  I  must  decline  to  allow  the  influence 
of  this  youth  to  continue  in  the  school.  A  whole-hearted 
penitence  for  his  many  offences  and  an  earnest  purpose 
to  reform  would  induce  me  to  give  him  a  further  trial. 
In  the  absence  of  either  penitence  or  purpose  to  reform 
I  must  regretfully  advise  expulsion." 

Joyfully  the  School  Board,  who  had  for  months  urged 
upon  the  reluctant  head  this  action,  acquiesced  in  the 
course  suggested,  and  Samuel  was  forthwith  expelled,  to 
his  own  unmitigated  relief  but  to  his  father's  red  and 
raging  indignation  at  what  he  termed  the  "(h) ignorant 
persecution  of  their  betters  by  these  (h) insolent  Colo- 
nials," for  "'is  son  'ad  'ad  the  advantages  of  schools  of 
the  'ighest  standin'  in  (H)England." 

Being  expelled  from  school  Sam  forthwith  was  brought 
by  his  father  to  the  office  of  the  mills,  where  he  himself 
was  employed.  There  he  introduced  his  son  to  the  notice 
of  Mr.  Grant  Maitland,  with  request  for  employment. 

The  old  man  looked  the  boy  over. 

"What  has  he  been  doing?" 

"Nothin'.     'E's  just  left  school." 

"High  School?" 

"Naw.  Public  School."  Wigglesworth  Sr.'s  tone  in- 
dicated no  exalted  opinion  of  the  Public  School. 

"Public  School!    What  grade,  eh?" 

"Grade?  I  dinnaw.  Wot  grade,  Samuel?  Come, 
speak  (h)up,  cawn't  yeh?" 

"Uh?"    Sam's  mental  faculties  had  been  occupied  in 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


observing  the  activities  and  guessing-  the  probable  fate  of 
a  lumber-jack  gaily  decked  in  scarlet  sash  and  blue  over- 
alls, who  was  the  central  figure  upon  a  flaming  calendar 
tacked  up  behind  Mr.  Maitland's  desk,  setting  forth  the 
commercial  advantages  of  trading  with  the  Departmental 
Stores  of  Stillwell  &  Son. 

"Wot  grade  in  school,  the  boss  is  (h)askin',"  said  his 
father  sharply. 

"Grade?"  enquired  Sam,  returning  to  the  commonplace 
of  the  moment. 

"Yes,  what  grade  in  the  Public  School  were  you  in 
when  you  left?"  The  blue  eyes  of  the  boss  was  "borin' 
'oles"  through  Sam  and  the  voice  pierced  like  a  "bleedin' 
gimblet,"  as  Wigglesworth,  Sr.,  reported  to  his  spouse 
that  afternoon. 

Sam  hesitated  a  bare  second.  "Fourth  grade  it  was," 
he  said  with  sullen  reluctance. 

"  'Adn't  no  chance,  Samuel  'adn't.  Been  a  delicate 
child  ever  since  'is  mother  stopped  suckin'  'im,"  explained 
the  father  with  a  sympathetic  shake  of  his  head. 

The  cold  blue  eye  appraised  the  boy's  hulking  mass. 

"  'E  don't  look  it,"  continued  Mr.  Wigglesworth,  not- 
ing the  keen  glance,  "but  'e's  never  been  (h)able  to  bide 
steady  at  the  school.  (H)It's  'is  brain,  sir." 

"His — ah — brain  ?"  Again  the  blue  eyes  appraised  the 
boy,  this  time  scanning  critically  his  face  for  indication 
of  undue  brain  activity. 

"  Ts  brain,  sir,"  earnestly  reiterated  the  sympathetic 
parent.  "  'Watch  that  (h) infant's  brain,'  sez  the  Doctor 
to  the  missus  when  she  put  'im  on  the  bottle.  And  you 
know,  we  'ave  real  doctors  in  (H) England,  sir.  'Watch 
'is  brain,'  sez  'e,  and,  my  word,  the  care  'is  ma  'as  took 
of  that  boy's  brain  is  wunnerful,  is  fair  beautiful,  sir." 

[52] 


ANNETTE 


Mr.  Wigglesworth's  voice  grew  tremulous  at  the  remem- 
brance of  that  maternal  solicitude. 

"And  was  that  why  he  left  school?"  enquired  the  boss. 

"Well,  sir,  not  (h)exackly,"  said  Mr.  Wigglesworth, 
momentarily  taken  aback,  "though  w'en  I  comes  to  think 
on  it  that  must  a  been  at  the  bottom  of  it.  You  see,  w'en 
Samuel  went  at  'is  books  of  a  night  'e'd  no  more  than  be- 
gin at  a  sum  an'  'e'd  say  to  'is  ma,  'My  brain's  a-whirlin', 
ma',  just  like  that,  and  'is  ma  would  'ave  to  pull  'is  book 
away,  just  drag  it  away,  you  might  say.  Oh,  'e's  'ad  a 
'ard  time,  'as  Samuel."  At  this  point  the  boss  received 
a  distinct  shock,  for,  as  his  eyes  were  resting  upon  Sam- 
uel's face  meditatively  while  he  listened  somewhat 
apathetically,  it  must  be  confessed,  to  the  father's  moving 
tale,  the  eye  of  the  boy  remote  from  the  father  closed  in  a 
slow  but  significant  wink. 

The  boss  sat  up,  galvanised  into  alert  attention.  "Eh  ? 
What?"  he  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  sir,  'e's  caused  'is  ma  many  a  (h) anxious  hour, 
'as  Samuel."  Again  the  eye  closed  in  a  slow  and  solemn 
wink.  "And  we  thought,  'is  ma  and  me,  that  we  would 
like  to  get  Samuel  into  some  easy  job " 

"An  easy  job,  eh?" 

"Yes,  sir.    Something  in  the  office,  'ere." 

"But  his  brain,  you  say,  would  not  let  him  study  his 
books." 

"Oh,  it  was  them  sums,  sir,  an'  the  Jography  and  the 
'Istory  an'  the  Composition,  an',  an' — wot  else,  Samuel? 
You  see,  these  'ere  schools  ain't  a  bit  like  the  schools  at 
'ome,  sir.  They're  so  confusing  with  their  subjecks.  Wot 
I  say  is,  why  not  stick  to  real  (h)eddication,  without  the 
fiddle  f addles?" 

"So  you  want  an  easy  job  for  your  son,  eh?"  enquired 
Mr.  Maitland. 

[531 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


"Boy,"  he  said  sharply  to  Samuel,  whose  eyes  had 
again  become  fixed  upon  the  gay  and  daring  lumber-jack. 
Samuel  recalled  himself  with  visible  effort.  "Why  did 
you  leave  school?  The  truth,  mind."  The  "borin'  "  eyes 
were  at  their  work. 

"Fired!"  said  Sam  promptly. 

Mr.  Wigglesworth  began  a  sputtering  explanation. 

"That  will  do,  Wigglesworth,"  said  Mr.  Maitland, 
holding  up  his  hand.  "Sam,  you  come  and  see  me  to- 
morrow here  at  eight.  Do  you  understand  ?" 

Sam  nodded.  After  they  had  departed  there  came 
through  the  closed  office  door  the  sound  of  Mr.  Wiggles- 
worth's  voice  lifted  in  violent  declamation,  but  from  Sam 
no  answering  sound  could  be  heard. 

The  school  suffered  no  noticeable  loss  in  the  intellectual 
quality  of  its  activities  by  the  removal  of  the  whirling 
brain  and  incidentally  its  physical  integument  of  Samuel 
Wigglesworth.  To  the  smaller  boys  the  absence  of  Sam 
brought  unbounded  joy,  more  especially  during  the  hours 
of  recess  from  study  and  on  their  homeward  way  from 
school  after  dismissal. 

More  than  any  other,  little  Steve  Wickes  rejoiced  in 
Sam's  departure  from  school.  Owing  to  some  myste- 
rious arrangement  of  Sam's  brain  cells  he  seemed  to  pos- 
sess an  abnormal  interest  in  observing  the  sufferings  of 
any  animal.  The  squirming  of  an  unfortunate  fly  upon 
a  pin  fascinated  him,  the  sight  of  a  wretched  dog  driven 
mad  with  terror  rushing  frantically  down  a  street,  with  a 
tin  can  dangling  to  its  tail,  convulsed  him  with  shrieking 
delight.  The  more  highly  organised  the  suffering  animal, 
the  keener  was  Sam's  joy.  A  child,  for  instance,  flying 
in  a  paroxysm  of  fear  from  Sam's  hideously  contorted 
face  furnished  acute  satisfaction.  It  fell  naturally  enough 
that  little  Steve  Wickes,  the  timid,  shrinking,  humpbacked 

[54] 


ANNETTE 


son  of  the  dead  soldier,  Stephen  Wickes,  afforded  Sam 
many  opportunities  of  rare  pleasure.  It  was  Sam  that 
coined  and,  with  the  aid  of  his  sycophantic  following 
never  wanting  to  a  bully,  fastened  to  the  child  the  nick- 
name of  "Humpy  Wicksy,"  working  thereby  writhing 
agony  in  the  lad's  highly  sensitive  soul.  But  Sam  did  not 
stay  his  hand  at  the  infliction  of  merely  mental  anguish. 
It  was  one  of  his  favorite  forms  of  sport  to  seize  the  child 
by  the  collar  and  breeches  and,  swinging  him  high  over 
head,  hold  him  there  in  an  anguish  of  suspense,  awaiting 
the  threatened  drop.  It  is  to  be  confessed  that  Sam  was 
not  entirely  without  provocation  at  the  hands  of  little 
Steve,  for  the  lad  had  a  truly  uncanny  cunning  hidden  in 
his  pencil,  by  means  of  which  Sam  was  held  up  in  cari- 
cature to  the  surreptitious  joy  of  his  schoolmates.  Sam's 
departure  from  school  deprived  him  of  the  full  opportu- 
nity he  formerly  enjoyed  of  indulging  himself  in  his 
favourite  sport.  On  this  account  he  took  the  more  eager 
advantage  of  any  opportunity  that  offered  still  to  gratify 
his  taste  in  this  direction. 

Sauntering  sullenly  homeward  from  his  interview  with 
the  boss  and  with  his  temper  rasped  to  a  raw  edge  by  his 
father's  wrathful  comments  upon  his  "dommed  waggin' 
tongue,"  he  welcomed  with  quite  unusual  eagerness  the 
opportunity  for  indulging  himself  in  his  pastime  of  bait- 
ing Humpy  Wicksy  whom  he  overtook  on  his  way  home 
from  school  during  the  noon  intermission. 

"Hello,  Humpy,"  he  roared  at  the  lad. 

Like  a  frightened  rabbit  Steve  scurried  down  a  lane, 
Sam  whooping  after  him. 

"Come  back,  you  little  beast.  Do  you  hear  me?  I'll 
learn  you  to  come  when  you're  called/'  he  shouted,  catch- 
ing the  terrified  lad  and  heaving  him  aloft  in  his  usual 
double-handed  grip. 

[55] 


"Let  me  down,  you!  Leave  me  alone  now,"  shrieked 
the  boy,  squirming,  scratching,  biting  like  an  infuriated 
cat. 

"Bite,  would  you?"  said  Sam,  flinging  the  boy  down. 
"Now  then,"  catching  him  by  the  legs  and  turning  him 
over  on  his  stomach,  "we'll  make  a  wheelbarrow  of  you. 
Gee  up,  Buck!  Want  a  ride,  boys?"  he  shouted  to  his 
admiring  gallery  of  toadies.  "All  aboard!" 

While  the  unhappy  Steve,  shrieking  prayers  and  curses, 
was  struggling  vainly  to  extricate  himself  from  the  hands 
gripping  his  ankles,  Annette  Perrotte,  stepping  smartly 
along  the  street  on  her  way  from  the  box  factory,  came 
past  the  entrance  to  the  lane.  By  her  side  strode  a  broad- 
shouldered,  upstanding  youth.  Arrested  by  Steve's  out- 
cries and  curses  she  paused. 

"What  are  those  boys  at,  I  wonder?"  she  said.  "There's 
that  big  lout  of  a  Wigglesworth  boy.  He's  up  to  no  good, 
I  bet  you." 

"Oh,  a  kids'  row  of  some  kind  or  ither,  a  doot,"  said 
the  youth.  "Come  along." 

"He's  hurting  someone,"  said  Annette,  starting  down 
the  lane.  "What?  I  believe  it's  that  poor  child,  Steve 
Wickes."  Like  a  wrathful  fury  she  dashed  in  upon  Sam 
and  his  company  of  tormentors  and,  knocking  the  little 
ones  right  and  left,  she  sprang  upon  Sam  with  a  fierce 
cry. 

"You  great  brute!"  She  seized  him  by  his  thatch  of 
thick  red  hair  and  with  one  mighty  swing  she  hurled  him 
clear  of  Steve  and  dashed  him  head  on  against  the  lane 
fence.  Sheer  surprise  held  Sam  silent  for  a  few  seconds, 
but  as  he  felt  the  trickle  of  warm  blood  run  down  his  face 
and  saw  it  red  upon  his  hand,  his  surprise  gave  place 
to  terror. 
[56] 


ANNETTE 


"Ouw!  Ouw!"  he  bellowed.  "I'm  killed,  I'm  dying. 
Ouw!  Ouw!" 

"I  hope  so,"  said  Annette,  holding  Steve  in  her  arms 
and  seeking  to  quiet  his  sobbing.  But  as  she  saw  the 
streaming  blood  her  face  paled. 

"For  the  love  of  Mike,  Mack,  see  if  he's  hurt,"  she 
said  in  a  low  voice  to  her  companion. 

"Not  he !  He's  makin'  too  much  noise,"  said  the  young 
man.  "Here,  you  young  bull,  wait  till  I  see  what's  wrang 
wi'  ye,"  he  continued,  stooping  over  Sam. 

"Get  away  from  me,  I  tell  you.  Ouw !  Ouw !  I'm  dy- 
ing, and  they'll  hang  her.  Ouw !  Ouw !  I'm  killed,  and 
I'm  just  glad  I  am,  for  she'll  be  hung  to  death."  Here 
Sam  broke  into  a  vigorous  stream  of  profanity. 

"Ay,  he's  improvin'  A  doot,"  said  Mack.  "Let  us  be 
going." 

"Ello!  Wot's  (h)up?"  cried  a  voice.  It  was  Mr. 
Wiggles  worth  on  his  way  home  from  the  mill.  "Why, 
bless  my  living  lights,  if  it  bean't  Samuel.  Who's  been 
a  beatin'  of  you,  Sammy?"  His  eye  swept  the  crowd. 
'  'Ave  you  been  at  my  lad?"  he  asked,  stepping  toward 
the  young  man,  whom  Annette  named  Mack. 

"Aw,  steady  up,  man.  There's  naethin'  much  wrang 
wi'  the  lad — a  wee  scratch  on  the  heid  frae  fa'in'  against 
the  fence  yonder." 

"Who  'it  'im,  I  say?"  shouted  Mr.  Wigglesworth. 
"Was  it  you?"  he  added,  squaring  up  to  the  young  man. 

"No,  it  wasn't,  Mr.  Wigglesworth.  It  was  me."  Mr. 
Wigglesworth  turned  on  Annette  who,  now  that  Sam's 
bellowing  had  much  abated  with  the  appearance  of  his 
father  upon  the  scene,  had  somewhat  regained  her  nerve. 

"You?"  gasped  Mr.  Wigglesworth.  "You?  My 
Samuel?  It's  a  lie,"  he  cried. 

[57] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


"Hey,  mon,  guairrd  y're  tongue  a  bit,"  said  Mack. 
"Mind  ye're  speakin'  to  a  leddy." 

"A  lidy!  A  lidy!"  Mr.  Wigglesworth's  voice  was 
eloquent  of  scorn. 

"Aye,  a  leddy!"  said  Mack.  "An'  mind  what  ye  say 
aboot  her  tae.  Mind  y're  manners,  man." 

"My  manners,  hey?  An'  'oo  may  you  be,  to  learn  me 
manners,  you  bloomin'  (h) ignorant  Scotch  (h)ass.  You 
give  me  (h)any  of  your  (h)imperance  an'  I'll  knock  y're 
bloomin'  block  (h)off,  I  will."  And  Mr.  Wigglesworth, 
throwing  himself  into  the  approved  pugilistic  attitude, 
began  dancing  about  the  young  Scot. 

"Hoot,  mon,  awa'  hame  wi'  ye.  Tak'  yon  young  tyke 
wi'  ye  an'  gie  him  a  bit  wash,  he's  needin'  it,"  said  Mack, 
smiling  pleasantly  at  the  excited  and  belligerent  Mr. 
Wigglesworth. 

At  this  point  Captain  Jack,  slowly  motoring  by  the 
lane  mouth,  turned  his  machine  to  the  curb  and  leaped 
out. 

"What's  the  row  here?"  he  asked,  making  his  way 
through  the  considerable  crowd  that  had  gathered. 
"What's  the  trouble,  Wigglesworth?" 

"They're  knockin'  my  boy  abaht,  so  they  be,"  ex- 
claimed Mr.  Wigglesworth.  "But,"  with  growing  and 
righteous  wrath,  "they'll  find  (h)out  that,  wotsomever 
they  do  to  a  kid,  w'en  they  come  (h)up  agin  Joe  Wig- 
glesworth they've  struck  somethin'  'ard — 'ard,  d'ye  'ear? 
'Ard!"  And  Mr.  Wigglesworth  made  a  pass  at  the 
young  Scot. 

"Hold  on,  Wigglesworth,"  said  Captain  Jack  quietly, 
catching  his  arm.  "Were  you  beating  up  this  kid?"  he 
asked,  turning  to  the  young  man. 

"Nae  buddie's  beatin'  up  the  lad,"  said  Mack  quietly. 

[58] 


ANNETTE 


"It  was  me,"  said  the  girl,  turning  a  defiant  face  to 
Captain  Jack. 

"You?    Why!  great  Scot!    Blest  if  it  isn't  Annette." 

"Yes,  it's  me,"  said  the  girl,  her  face  a  flame  of  colour. 

"By  Jove,  you've  grown  up,  haven't  you  ?  And  it  was 
you  that " 

"Yes,  that  big  brute  was  abusing  Steve  here." 

"What?    Little  Steve  Wickes?" 

"He  was,  and  I  pitched  him  into  the  fence.  He  hit 
his  head  and  cut  it,  I  guess.  I  didn't  mean " 

"Served  him  right  enough,  too,  I  fancy,"  said  Captain 
Jack. 

"I'll  'ave  the  law  on  the  lot  o'  ye,  I  will.  I'm  a  poor 
workin'  man,  but  I've  got  my  rights,  an'  if  there's  a  jus- 
tice in  this  Gawd  forsaken  country  I'll  'ave  protection 
for  my  family."  And  Mr.  Wigglesworth,  working  up  a 
fury,  backed  off  down  the  lane. 

"Don't  fear,  Wigglesworth,  you'll  get  all  the  justice 
you  want.  Perhaps  Sam  will  tell  us — Hello!  Where 
is  Sam?" 

But  Sam  had  vanished.  He  had  no  mind  for  an  in- 
vestigation in  the  presence  of  Captain  Jack. 

"Well,  well,  he  can't  be  much  injured,  I  guess.  Mean- 
time, can  I  give  you  a  lift,  Annette?" 

"No,  thank  you,"  said  the  girl,  the  colour  in  her  cheeks 
matching  the  crimson  ribbon  at  her  throat.  "I'm  just 
going  home.  It's  only  a  little  way.  I  don't " 

"The  young  leddy  is  with  me,  sir,"  said  the  young 
Scotchman  quietly. 

"Oh,  she  is,  eh?"  said  Captain  Jack,  looking  him  over. 
"Ah,  well,  then — Good-bye,  Annette,  for  the  present." 
He  held  out  his  hand.  "We  must  renew  our  old  acquaint- 
ance, eh?" 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  the  girl. 

[59] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


"'Sir?'  Rot!  You  aren't  going  to  'sir'  me,  An- 
nette, after  all  the  fun  and  the  fights  we  had  in  the  old 
days.  Not  much.  We're  going  to  be  good  chums  again, 
eh?  What  do  you  say?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Annette,  flashing  a  swift  glance 
into  Captain  Jack's  admiring  eyes.  "It  depends  on " 

"On  me?" 

"I  didn't  say  so."    Her  head  went  up  a  bit. 

"On  you?" 

"I  didn't  say  so." 

"Well,  let  it  go.  But  we  will  be  pals  again,  Annette, 
I  vow.  Good-bye."  Captain  Jack  lifted  his  hat  and 
moved  away. 

As  he  reached  his  car  he  ran  up  against  young  Rupert 
Stillwell. 

"Deucedly  pretty  Annette  has  grown,  eh?"  said 
Stillwell. 

"Annette's  all  right,"  said  Jack,  rather  brusquely,  en- 
tering his  car. 

"Working  in  your  box  factory,  I  understand,  eh?" 

"Don't  really  know,"  said  Jack  carelessly.   "Probably." 

The  crowd  had  meantime  faded  away  with  Captain 
Jack's  going. 

"Did  na  know  the  Captain  was  a  friend  of  yours, 
Annette,"  said  Mack,  falling  into  step  beside  her. 

"No — yes — I  don't  know.  We  went  to  Public  School 
together  before  the  war.  I  was  a  kid  then."  Her  manner 
was  abstracted  and  her  eyes  were  far  away.  Mack 
walked  gloomily  by  her  on  one  side,  little  Steve  on  the 
other. 

"Huh !    He's  no  your  sort,  A  doot,"  he  said  sullenly. 

"What  do  you  say  ?"  cried  Annette,  returning  from  her 
abstraction.     "What  do  you  mean,   'my  sort'?"     Her 
head  went  high  and  her  eyes  flashed. 
[60] 


ANNETTE 


"He  would  na  look  at  ye,  for  ony  guid." 

"He  did  look  at  me  though,"  replied  Annette,  tossing 
her  head. 

"No  for  ony  guid!"  repeated  Mack,  stubbornly. 

Annette  stopped  in  her  tracks,  a  burning  red  on  her 
cheeks  and  a  dangerous  light  in  her  black  eyes. 

"Mr.  McNish,  that's  your  road,"  she  said,  pointing 
over  his  shoulder. 

"A'll  tak  it  tae,"  said  McNish,  wheeling  on  his  heel, 
"an'  ye  can  hae  your  Captain  for  me." 

With  never  a  look  at  him  Annette  took  her  way  home. 

"Good-bye,  Steve,"  she  said,  stooping  and  kissing  the 
boy.  "This  is  your  corner." 

"Annette,"  he  said,  with  a  quick,  shy  look  up  into  her 
face,  "I  like  Captain  Jack,  don't  you?" 

"No,"  she  said  hurriedly.    "I  mean  yes,  of  course." 

"And  I  like  you  too,"  said  the  boy,  with  an  adoring 
look  in  his  deep  eyes,  "better'n  anyone  in  the  world." 

"Do  you,  Steve?  I'm  glad."  Again  she  stooped 
swiftly  and  kissed  him.  "Now  run  home." 

She  hurried  home,  passed  into  her  room  without  a 
word  to  anyone.  Slowly  she  removed  her  hat,  then  turn- 
ing to  her  glass  she  gazed  at  her  flushed  face  for  a  few 
moments.  A  little  smile  curved  her  lips.  "He  did  look 
at  me  anyway,"  she  whispered  to  the  face  that  looked 
out  at  her,  "he  did,  he  did,"  she  repeated.  Then  swiftly 
she  covered  her  eyes.  When  she  looked  again  she  saw 
a  face  white  and  drawn.  "He  would  na  look  at  ye." 
The  words  smote  her  with  a  chill.  Drearily  she  turned 
away  and  went  out. 


[61] 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  RECTORY 

The  Rectory  was  one  of  the  very  oldest  of  the  more 
substantial  of  Blackwater's  dwellings.  Built  of  grey 
limestone  from  the  local  quarries,  its  solid  square  mass 
relieved  by  its  quaint  dormer  windows  was  softened  from 
its  primal  ugliness  by  the  Boston  ivy  that  had  clambered 
to  the  eaves  and  lay  draped  about  the  windows  like  a 
soft  green  mantle.  Built  in  the  early  days,  it  stood  with 
the  little  church,  a  gem  of  Gothic  architecture,  within 
spacious  grounds  bought  when  land  was  cheap.  Behind 
the  house  stood  the  stable,  built  also  of  grey  limestone, 
and  at  one  side  a  cherry  and  apple  orchard  formed  a 
charming  background  to  the  grey  buildings  with  their 
crowding  shrubbery  and  gardens.  A  gravelled  winding 
drive  led  from  the  street  through  towering  elms,  a  pic- 
turesque remnant  from  the  original  forest,  to  the  front 
door  and  round  the  house  to  the  stable  yard  behind. 
From  the  driveway  a  gravelled  footpath  led  through  the 
shrubbery  and  flower  garden  by  a  wicket  gate  to  the 
Church.  When  first  built  the  Rectory  stood  in  dignified 
seclusion  on  the  edge  of  the  village,  but  the  prosperity  of 
the  growing  town  demanding  space  for  its  inhabitants 
had  driven  its  streets  far  beyond  the  Rectory  demesne  on 
every  side,  till  now  it  stood,  a  green  oasis  of  sheltered 
loveliness,  amid  a  crowding  mass  of  modern  brick  dwell- 
ings, comfortable  enough  but  arid  of  beauty  and  sug- 
gestive only  of  the  utilitarian  demands  of  a  busy 
manufacturing  town. 
[62] 


THE  RECTORY 


For  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  century  the  Rev.  Herbert 
Aveling  Templeton,  D.D.,  LL.D.,  for  whom  the  Rectory 
had  been  built,  had  ministered  in  holy  things  to  the  Parish 
of  St.  Alban's  and  had  exercised  a  guiding  and  paternal 
care  over  the  social  and  religious  well-being  of  the  com- 
munity. The  younger  son  of  one  of  England's  noble 
families,  educated  in  an  English  Public  School  and 
University,  he  represented,  in  the  life  of  this  new,  thriv- 
ing, bustling  town,  the  traditions  and  manners  of  an 
English  gentleman  of  the  Old  School.  Still  in  his  early 
sixties,  he  carried  his  years  with  all  the  vigour  of  a  man 
twenty  years  his  junior.  As  he  daily  took  his  morning 
walk  for  his  mail,  stepping  with  the  brisk  pace  of  one 
whose  poise  the  years  had  not  been  able  to  disturb,  yet 
with  the  stately  bearing  consistent  with  the  dignity  at- 
taching to  his  position  and  office,  men's  eyes  followed  the 
tall,  handsome,  white-haired,  well  set  up  gentleman  always 
with  admiration  and,  where  knowledge  was  intimate, 
with  reverence  and  affection.  Before  the  recent  rapid 
growth  of  the  town  consequent  upon  the  establishment 
of  various  manufacturing  industries  attracted  thither  by 
the  unique  railroad  facilities,  the  Rector's  walk  was  some- 
thing in  the  nature  of  public  perambulatory  reception. 
For  he  knew  them  all,  and  for  all  had  a  word  of  greeting, 
of  enquiry,  of  cheer,  of  admonition,  so  that  by  the  time 
he  had  returned  to  his  home  he  might  have  been  said  to 
have  conducted  a  pastoral  visitation  of  a  considerable 
proportion  of  his  flock.  Even  yet,  with  the  changes  that 
had  taken  place,  his  walk  to  the  Post  Office  was  punctu- 
ated with  greetings  and  salutations  from  his  fellow- 
citizens  in  whose  hearts  his  twenty-five  years  of  devotion 
to  their  well-being,  spiritual  and  physical,  had  made  for 
him  an  enduring  place. 

The  lady  of  the  Rectory,  though  some  twenty  years  his 

[63] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


junior,  yet,  by  reason  of  delicate  health  due  largely  to 
the  double  burden  of  household  cares  and  parish  duties, 
appeared  to  be  quite  of  equal  age.  Gentle  in  spirit,  frail 
in  body,  there  seemed  to  be  in  her  soul  something  of  the 
quality  of  tempered  steel,  yet  withal  a  strain  of  worldly 
wisdom  mingled  with  a  strange  ignorance  of  the  affairs 
of  modern  life.  Her  life  revolved  around  one  centre,  her 
adored  husband,  a  centre  enlarged  as  time  went  on  to  in- 
clude her  only  son  and  her  two  daughters.  All  others 
and  all  else  in  her  world  were  of  interest  solely  as  they 
might  be  more  or  less  closely  related  to  these,  the  members 
of  her  family.  The  town  and  the  town  folk  she  knew 
solely  as  her  husband's  parish.  There  were  other  people 
and  other  communions,  no  doubt,  but  being  beyond  the 
pale  they  could  hardly  be  supposed  to  matter,  or,  at  any 
rate,  she  could  not  be  supposed  to  regard  them  with  more 
than  the  interest  and  spasmodic  concern  which  she  felt  it 
her  duty  to  bestow  upon  those  unfortunate  dwellers  in 
partibus  infidelium. 

Regarding  the  Public  School  of  the  town  with  aversion 
because  of  its  woefully  democratic  character,  she  was 
weaned  from  her  hostility  to  that  institution  when  her 
son's  name  was  entered  upon  its  roll.  Her  eldest  daugh- 
ter, indeed,  she  sent  as  a  girl  of  fourteen  to  an  exclusive 
English  school,  the  expense  of  which  was  borne  by  her 
husband's  eldest  brother,  Sir  Arthur  Templeton,  for  she 
held  the  opinion  that  while  for  a  boy  the  Public  School 
was  an  excellent  institution  with  a  girl  it  was  quite  differ- 
ent. Hence,  while  her  eldest  daughter  went  "Home"  for 
her  education,  her  boy  went  to  the  Blackwater  Public 
and  High  Schools,  which  institutions  became  henceforth 
invested  with  the  highest  qualifications  as  centres  of  edu- 
cation. Her  boy's  friends  were  her  friends,  and  to  them 
her  house  was  open  at  all  hours  of  day  or  night.  Indeed, 

[64] 


THE  RECTORY 


it  became  the  governing  idea  in  her  domestic  policy  that 
her  house  should  be  the  rallying  centre  for  everything  that 
was  related  in  any  degree  to  her  children's  life.  Hence, 
she  quietly  but  effectively  limited  the  circle  of  the  chil- 
dren's friends  to  those  who  were  able  and  were  willing 
to  make  the  Rectory  their  social  centre.  She  saw  to  it 
that  for  Herbert's  intimate  boy  friends  the  big  play  room 
at  the  top  of  the  house,  once  a  bare  and  empty  room  and 
later  the  large  and  comfortable  family  living  room,  be- 
came the  place  of  meeting  for  all  their  social  and  athletic 
club  activities.  With  unsleeping  vigilance  she  stood  on 
guard  against  anything  that  might  break  that  circle  of 
her  heart's  devotion.  The  circle  might  be,  indeed  must 
be  enlarged,  as  for  instance  to  take  in  the  Maitland  boys, 
Herbert's  closest  chums.  She  was  wise  enough  to  see 
the  wisdom  of  that,  but  nothing  on  earth  would  she  allow 
to  filch  from  her  a  single  unit  of  the  priceless  treasures 
of  her  heart. 

To  this  law  of  her  life  she  made  one  glorious,  one 
splendid  exception.  When  her  country  called,  she,  after 
weeks  of  silent,  fierce,  lonely,  agonised  struggle  gave  up 
her  boy  and  sent  him  with  voiceless,  tearless  pride  to  the 
War. 

But,  when  the  boy's  Colonel  wrote  in  terms  of  affec- 
tionate pride  of  her  boy's  glorious  passing,  with  new  and 
strange  adaptability  her  heart  circle  was  extended  to 
include  her  boy's  comrades  in  war  and  those  who  like 
herself  had  sent  them  forth.  Thenceforth  every  khaki 
covered  lad  was  to  her  a  son,  and  every  soldier's  mother 
a  friend. 

As  her  own  immediate  home  circle  grew  smaller,  the 
intensity  of  her  devotion  increased.  Her  two  daughters 
became  her  absorbing  concern.  With  the  modern  notion 
that  a  girl  might  make  for  herself  a  career  in  life  she  had 

[65] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


no  sympathy  whatever.  To  see  them  happily  married 
and  in  homes  of  their  own  became  the  absorbing  ambition 
of  her  life.  To  this  end  she  administered  her  social 
activities,  with  this  purpose  in  view  she  encouraged  or 
discouraged  her  daughters'  friendships  with  men.  With 
the  worldly  wisdom  of  which  she  had  her  own  share  she 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  ineligible  men  friends,  that 
is,  men  friends  unable  to  give  her  daughters  a  proper 
setting  in  the  social  world,  were  to  be  effectively  elimi- 
nated. That  the  men  of  her  daughters'  choosing  should 
be  gentlemen  in  breeding  went  without  saying,  but  that 
they  should  be  sufficiently  endowed  with  wealth  to  sup- 
port a  proper  social  position  was  equally  essential. 

That  Jack  Maitland  had  somehow  dropped  out  of  the 
intimate  circle  of  friends  who  had  in  pre-war  days  made 
the  Rectory  their  headquarters  was  to  her  a  more  bitter 
disappointment  than  she  cared  to  acknowledge  even  to 
herself.  Her  son  and  the  two  Maitland  boys  had  been 
inseparable  in  their  school  and  college  days,  and  with 
the  two  young  men  her  daughters  had  been  associated  in 
the  very  closest  terms  of  comradeship.  But  somehow 
Captain  Jack  Maitland  after  the  first  months  succeeding 
his  return  from  the  war  had  drawn  apart.  Disappointed, 
perplexed,  hurt,  she  vainly  had  striven  to  restore  the  old 
footing  between  the  young  man  and  her  daughters. 
Young  Maitland  had  taken  up  his  medical  studies  for 
a  few  months  at  his  old  University  in  Toronto  and  so 
had  been  out  of  touch  with  the  social  life  of  his  home 
town.  Then  after  he  had  "chucked"  his  course  as  im- 
possible he  had  at  his  father's  earnest  wish  taken  up 
work  at  the  mills,  at  first  in  the  office,  later  in  the  manu- 
facturing department.  There  was  something  queer  in 
Jack's  attitude  toward  his  old  life  and  its  associations, 
and  after  her  first  failures  in  attempting  to  restore  the 
[66] 


THE  RECTORY 


old  relationship  her  eldest  daughter's  pride  and  then  her 
own  forbade  further  efforts. 

Adrien,  her  eldest  daughter,  had  always  been  a  difficult 
child,  and  her  stay  in  England  and  later  her  experience 
in  war  work  in  France  where  for  three  years  she  had 
given  rare  service  in  hospital  work  had  somehow  made  her 
even  more  inaccessible  to  her  mother.  And  now  the 
situation  had  been  rendered  more  distressing  by  her 
determination  "to  find  something  to  do."  She  was  firm 
in  her  resolve  that  she  had  no  intention  of  patiently 
waiting  in  her  home,  ostensibly  busying  herself  with 
social  duties  but  in  reality  "waiting  if  not  actually  angling 
for  a  man."  She  bluntly  informed  her  scandalised  parent 
that  "when  she  wanted  a  man  more  than  a  career  it  would 
be  far  less  humiliating  to  frankly  go  out  and  get  him 
than  to  practise  alluring  poses  in  the  hopes  that  he  might 
deign  to  bestow  upon  her  his  lordly  regard."  Her  mother 
wisely  forebore  to  argue.  Indeed,  she  had  long  since 
learned  that  in  argumentive  powers  she  was  hopelessly 
outclassed  by  her  intellectual  daughter.  She  could  only 
express  her  shocked  disappointment  at  such  intentions 
and  quietly  plan  to  circumvent  them. 

As  to  Patricia,  her  younger  daughter,  she  dismissed 
all  concern.  She  was  only  a  child  as  yet,  wise  beyond  her 
years,  but  too  thoroughly  immature  to  cause  any  anxiety 
for  some  years  to  come.  Meantime  she  had  at  first 
tolerated  and  then  gently  encouraged  the  eager  and 
obvious  anxiety  of  Rupert  Stillvvell  to  make  a  footing 
for  himself  in  the  Rectory  family.  At  the  outbreak  of 
the  war  her  antipathy  to  young  Stillwell  as  a  slacker  had 
been  violent.  He  had  not  joined  up  with  the  first  band 
of  ardent  young  souls  who  had  so  eagerly  pointed  the 
path  to  duty  and  to  glory.  But,  when  it  had  been  made 
clear  to  the  public  mind  that  young  Stillwell  had  been 

[67] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


pronounced  physically  unfit  for  service  and  was  therefore 
prevented  from  taking  his  place  in  that  Canadian  line 
which  though  it  might  wear  thin  at  times  had  never 
broken,  Mrs.  Templeton  relieved  him  in  her  mind  of  the 
damning  count  of  being  a  slacker.  Later,  becoming  im- 
pressed with  the  enthusiasm  of  the  young  man's  devotion 
to  various  forms  of  patriotic  war  service  at  home,  she 
finally,  though  it  must  be  confessed  with  something  of  an 
effort,  had  granted  him  a  place  within  the  circle  of  her 
home.  Furthermore,  Rupert  Stillwell  had  done  extremely 
well  in  all  his  business  enterprises  and  had  come  to  be 
recognised  as  one  of  the  coming  young  men  of  the  dis- 
trict, indeed  of  the  Province,  with  sure  prospects  of 
advancement  in  public  estimation.  Hence,  the  frequency 
with  which  Stillwell's  big  Hudson  Six  could  be  seen 
parked  on  the  gravelled  drive  before  the  Rectory  front 
door.  In  addition  to  this,  Rupert  and  his  Hudson  Six 
were  found  to  be  most  useful.  He  had  abundance  of  free 
time  and  he  was  charmingly  ready  with  his  offers  of 
service.  Any  hour  of  the  day  the  car,  driven  by  himself 
or  his  chauffeur,  was  at  the  disposal  of  any  member  of 
the  Rectory  family,  a  courtesy  of  which  Mrs.  Templeton 
was  not  unwilling  to  avail  herself  though  never  with  any 
loss  of  dignity  but  always  with  appearance  of  bestowing 
rather  than  of  receiving  a  favour.  As  to  the  young  ladies, 
Adrien  rarely  allowed  herself  the  delight  of  a  motor  ride 
in  Rupert  Stillwell's  luxurious  car.  On  the  other  hand, 
had  her  mother  not  intervened,  Patricia  would  have  in- 
dulged without  scruple  her  passion  for  joy-riding.  The 
car  she  adored,  Rupert  Stillwell  she  regarded  simply  as 
a  means  to  the  indulgence  of  her  adoration.  He  was  a 
jolly  companion,  a  cleverly  humourous  talker,  and  an 
unfailing  purveyor  of  bon-bons.  Hence  he  was  to  Patricia 
an  ever  welcome  guest  at  the  Rectory,  and  the  warmth 

[68] 


THE  RECTORY 


of  Patricia's  welcome  went  a  long  way  to  establish  his 
position  of  intimacy  in  the  family. 

It  was  not  to  be  supposed,  however,  that  that  young 
lady's  gracious  and  indeed  eager  acceptance  of  the  mani- 
fold courtesies  of  the  young  gentleman  in  question 
burdened  her  in  the  very  slightest  with  any  sense  of 
obligation  to  anything  but  the  most  cavalier  treatment  of 
him,  should  occasion  demand.  She  was  unhesitatingly 
frank  and  ready  with  criticism  and  challenge  of  his 
opinions,  indeed  he  appeared  to  possess  a  fatal  facility 
for  championing  her  special  aversions  and  antagonising 
her  enthusiasms.  Of  the  latter  her  most  avowed  example 
was  Captain  Jack,  as  she  loved  to  call  him.  A  word  of 
criticism  of  Captain  Jack,  her  hero,  her  knight,  sans  peur 
et  sans  reproche  and  her  loyal  soul  was  aflame  with 
passionate  resentment. 

It  so  fell  on  an  occasion  when  young  Stillwell  was  a 
dinner  guest  at  the  Rectory. 

"Do  you  know,  Patricia,"  and  Rupert  Stillwell  looked 
across  the  dinner  table  teasingly  into  Patricia's  face, 
"your  Captain  Jack  was  rather  mixed  up  in  a  nice  little 
row  to-day?" 

"I  heard  all  about  it,  Rupert,  and  Captain  Jack  did 
just  what  I  would  have  expected  him  to  do."  Patricia's 
unsmiling  eyes  looked  steadily  into  the  young  man's 
smiling  face. 

"Rescued  a  charming  young  damsel,  eh  ?  By  the  way, 
that  Perrotte  girl  has  turned  out  uncommonly  good  look- 
ing," continued  Rupert,  addressing  the  elder  sister. 

"Rescuing  a  poor  little  ill-treated  boy  from  the  hands 

of  a  brutal  bully  and  the  bully's  brutal  father " 

Patricia's  voice  was  coolly  belligerent. 

"My  dear  Patricia!"  The  mother's  voice  was  depre- 
catingly  pacific. 

[69] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


"It  is  simply  true,  Mother,  and  Rupert  knows  it  quite 
well  too,  or " 

"Patricia!"  Her  father's  quiet  voice  arrested  his 
daughter's  flow  of  speech. 

"But,  Father,  everyone " 

"Patricia!"  The  voice  was  just  as  quiet  but  with  a 
slightly  increased  distinctness  in  enunciation,  and  glanc- 
ing swiftly  at  her  father's  face  Patricia  recognised  that 
the  limits  of  her  speech  had  been  reached,  unless  she 
preferred  to  change  the  subject. 

"Yes,  Annette  has  grown  very  pretty,  indeed,"  said 
Adrien,  taking  up  the  conversation,  "and  is  really  a  very 
nice  girl,  indeed.  She  sings  beautifully.  She  is  the  lead- 
ing soprano  in  her  church  choir,  I  believe." 

"Captain  Jack  Maitland  appeared  to  think  her  quite 
charming,"  said  Rupert,  making  eyes  at  Patricia. 
Patricia's  lips  tightened  and  her  eyes  gleamed  a  bit. 

"They  were  in  school  together,  I  think,  were  they  not, 
Mamma?"  said  Adrien,  flushing  slightly. 

"Of  course  they  were,  and  so  was  Rupert,  too " 

said  Patricia  with  impatient  scorn,  "and  so  would  you 
if  you  hadn't  been  sent  to  England,"  she  added  to  her 
sister. 

"No  doubt  of  it,"  said  Rupert  with  a  smile,  "but  you 
see  she  was  fortunate  enough  to  be  sent  to  England." 

"Blackwater  is  good  enough  for  me,"  said  Patricia, 
a  certain  stubborn  hostility  in  her  tone. 

"I  have  always  thought  the  Blackwater  High  School 
an  excellent  institution,"  said  her  mother  quickly,  "es- 
pecially for  boys." 

"Yes,  indeed,   for  boys,"   replied  Stillwell,   "but  for 
young  ladies — well,  there  is  something  in  an  English 
school,  you  know,  that  you  can't  get  in  any  High  School 
here  in  Canada." 
170] 


THE  RECTORY 


"Rot!"  ejaculated  Patricia. 

"My  dear  Patricia!"     The  mother  was  quite  shocked. 

"Pardon  me,  Mother,  but  you  know  we  have  a  per- 
fectly splendid  High  School  here.  Father  has  often 
said  so." 

Her  mother  sighed.  "Yes,  for  boys.  But  for  girls, 
I  feel  with  Rupert  that  you  get  something  in  English 

schools  that "  She  hesitated,  looking  uncertainly  at 

her  elder  daughter. 

"Yes,  and  perhaps  lose  something,  Mamma,"  said 
Adrien  quietly.  "I  mean,"  she  added  hastily,  "you  lose 
touch  with  a  lot  of  things  and  people,  friends.  Now,  for 
instance,  you  remember  when  we  were  all  children,  boys 
and  girls  together,  at  the  Public  School,  Annette  was  one 
of  the  cleverest  and  best  of  the  lot  of  us,  I  used  to  be  fond 
of  her — and  the  others.  Now " 

"But  you  can't  help  growing  up,"  said  Rupert,  "and — 
well,  democracy  is  all  right  and  that  sort  of  thing,  but 
you  must  drift  into  your  class  you  know.  There's 
Annette,  for  instance.  She  is  a  factory  hand,  a  fine  girl, 
of  course,  and  all  that,  but " 

"Oh,  I  suppose  we  must  recognise  facts.  Rupert,  you 
are  quite  right,"  said  Mrs.  Templeton,  "there  must  be 
social  distinctions  and  there  are  classes.  I  mean,"  she 
added,  as  if  to  forestall  the  outburst  she  saw  gathering 
behind  her  younger  daughter's  closed  lips,  "we  must 
inevitably  draw  to  our  own  set  by  our  natural  or  acquired 
tastes  and  by  our  traditions  and  breeding." 

"All  very  well  in  England,  Mamma.  I  suppose  dear 
Uncle  Arthur  and  our  dear  cousins  would  hardly  feel 
called  upon  to  recognise  Annette  as  a  friend." 

"Why  should  they?"  challenged  Rupert. 

"My  dear  Patricia,"  said  her  father,  mildly  patient, 
"you  are  quite  wrong.  Our  people  at  home,  your  uncle 

[71] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


Arthur,  I  mean,  and  your  cousins,  and  all  well-bred  folk, 
do  not  allow  class  distinctions  to  limit  friendship.  Friends 
are  chosen  on  purely  personal  grounds  of  real  worth  and 
— well,  congeniality." 

"Would  Uncle  Arthur,  or  rather,  Aunt  Alicia  have 
Annette  to  dinner,  for  instance?"  demanded  Patricia. 

"Certainly  not,"  said  her  mother  promptly. 

"She  would  not  do  anything  to  embarrass  Annette," 
said  her  father. 

"Oh,  Dad,  what  a  funk.  That  is  quite  unworthy  of 
you." 

"Would  she  be  asked  here  now  to  dinner?"  said  Rupert. 
"I  mean,"  he  added  in  some  confusion,  "would  it  be,  ah, 
suitable?  You  know  what  I  mean." 

"She  has  been  here.  Don't  you  remember,  Mamma? 
She  was  often  here.  And  every  time  she  came  she  was 
the  cleverest  thing,  she  was  the  brightest,  the  most  at- 
tractive girl  in  the  bunch."  Her  mother's  eyebrows  went 
up.  "In  the  party,  I  mean.  And  the  most  popular. 
Why,  I  remember  quite  well  that  Rupert  was  quite  de- 
voted to  her." 

"A  mere  child,  she  was  then,  you  know,"  said  Rupert. 

"She  is  just  as  bright,  just  as  attractive,  as  clever  now, 
more  so  indeed,  as  fine  a  girl  in  every  way.  But  of  course 
she  was  not  a  factory  girl  then.  That's  what  you  mean," 
replied  Patricia  scornfully. 

"She  has  found  her  class,"  persisted  Rupert.  "She  is 
all  you  say,  but  surely " 

"Yes,  she  is  working  in  the  new  box  factory.  Her 
mother,  lazy,  selfish  thing,  took  her  from  the  High 
School." 

"My  dear  Patricia,  you  are  quite  violent,"  protested 
her  mother. 

"It's   true,   Mamma,"   continued   the   girl,   her   eyes 


THE  RECTORY 


agleam,  "and  now  she  works  in  the  box  factory  while 
Captain  Jack  works  in  the  planing  mill.  She  is  in  the 
same  class." 

"And  good  friends  apparently,"  said  Rupert  with  a 
malicious  little  grin. 

"Why  not?  We  would  have  Captain  Jack  to  dinner, 
but  not  Annette." 

Her  father  smiled  at  her.  "Well  done,  little  girl. 
Annette  is  a  fine  girl  and  is  fortunate  in  her  champion. 
You  can  have  her  to  dinner  any  evening,  I  am  quite 
sure." 

"Can  we,  Mamma?" 

"My  dear,  we  will  not  discuss  the  matter  any  further," 
said  her  mother.  "It  is  a  very  old  question  and  very 
perplexing,  I  confess,  but " 

"We  don't  see  Captain  Jack  very  much  since  his  re- 
turn," said  her  father,  turning  the  conversation.  "You 
might  begin  with  him,  eh,  Patsy?" 

"No,"  said  the  girl,  a  shade  falling  on  her  face.  "He 
is  always  busy.  He  has  such  long  hours.  He  works  his 
day's  work  with  the  men  and  then  he  always  goes  up  to 
the  office  to  his  father — and — and — Oh,  I  don't  know, 

I  wish  he  would  come.  He's  not "  Patricia  fell 

suddenly  silent. 

"Jack  is  very  much  engaged,"  said  her  mother  quietly. 

"Naturally  he  is  tied  up,  learning  the  business,  I  mean," 
said  the  elder  sister  quietly.  "He  has  little  time  for  mere 
social  frivolities  and  that  sort  of  thing." 

"It's  not  that,  Adrien,"  said  Patricia.  "He  is  different 
since  he  came  back.  I  wish "  She  paused  abruptly. 

"He  is  changed,"  said  her  mother  with  a  sigh.  "They 
— the  boys  are  all  changed." 

"The  war  has  left  its  mark  upon  them,  and  what  else 

[73] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


can  we  expect  ?"  said  Dr.  Templeton.  "One  wonders  how 
they  can  settle  down  at  all  to  work." 

"Oh,  Jack  has  settled  down  all  right,"  said  Patricia,  as 
if  analysing  a  subject  interesting  to  herself  alone.  "Jack's 
not  like  a  lot  of  them.  He's  too  much  settled  down. 
What  is  it,  I  wonder?  He  seems  to  have  quit  everything, 
dancing,  tennis,  golf.  He  doesn't  care " 

"Doesn't  care?  What  for?  That  sounds  either  as  if 
he  were  an  egotist  or  a  slacker."  Her  sister's  words 
rasped  Patricia's  most  sensitive  heart  string.  She  visibly 
squirmed,  eagerly  waiting  a  chance  to  reply.  "Jack  is 
neither,"  continued  Adrien  slowly.  "I  understand  the 
thing  perfectly.  He  has  been  up  against  big  things,  so 
big  that  everything  else  seems  trivial.  Fancy  a  tennis 
tournament  for  a  man  that  has  stared  into  hell's  mouth." 

"My  dear,  you  are  right,"  said  her  father.  "Patricia 
is  really  talking  too  much.  Young  people  should " 

"I  know,  Daddy — 'be  seen/  "  said  the  younger  daugh- 
ter, and  grinning  affectionately  at  him  she  blew  him  a 
kiss.  "But,  all  the  same,  I  wish  Captain  Jack  were  not 
so  awfully  busy  or  were  a  little  more  keen  about  things. 
He  wants  something  to  stir  him  up." 

"He  may  get  that  sooner  than  he  thinks,"  said  Stil- 
well,  "or  wishes.  I  hear  there's  likely  to  be  trouble  in 
the  mills." 

"Trouble?  Financial?  I  should  be  very  sorry,"  said 
Dr.  Templeton. 

"No.  Labour.  The  whole  labour  world  is  in  a  ferment. 
The  Maitlands  can  hardly  expect  to  escape.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  the  row  has  made  a  little  start,  I  happen  to  know." 

"These  labour  troubles  are  really  very  distressing. 
There  is  no  end  to  them,"  said  Mrs.  Templeton,  with  the 
resignation  one  shows  in  discussing  the  inscrutable  ways 
of  Providence.  "It  does  seem  as  if  the  working  classes 

[74] 


THE  RECTORY 


to-day  have  got  quite  beyond  all  bounds.  One  wonders 
what  they  will  demand  next.  What  is  the  trouble  now, 
Rupert?  Of  course — wages." 

"Oh,  the  eternal  old  trouble  is  there,  with  some  new 
ones  added  that  make  even  wages  seem  small." 

"And  what  are  these?"  enquired  Dr.  Templeton. 

"Oh,  division  of  profits,  share  in  administration  and 
control." 

"Division  of  profits  in  addition  to  wages?"  enquired 
Mrs.  Templeton,  aghast.  "But,  how  dreadful.  One 
would  think  they  actually  owned  the  factory." 

"That  is  the  modern  doctrine,  I  believe,"  said  Rupert. 

"Surely  that  is  an  extreme  statement,"  said  Dr.  Tem- 
pleton, in  a  shocked  voice,  "or  you  are  talking  of  the 
very  radical  element  only." 

"The  Rads  lead,  of  course,  but  you  would  be  surprised 
at  the  demands  made  to-day.  Why,  I  heard  a  young 
chap  last  week,  a  soap-box  artist,  denouncing  all  capi- 
talists as  parasites.  'Why  should  we  work  for  anyone 
but  ourselves?'  he  was  saying.  'Why  don't  we  take 
charge  of  the  factories  and  run  them  for  the  general 
good?'  I  assure  you,  sir,  those  were  his  very  words." 

"Really,  Rupert,  you  amaze  me.  In  Blackwater  here?" 
exclaimed  Dr.  Templeton. 

"But,  my  dear  papa,  that  sort  of  thing  is  the  common- 
place of  Hyde  Park,  you  know,"  said  Adrien,  "and " 

"Ah,  Hyde  Park,  yes.  I  should  expect  that  sort  of 
thing  from  the  Hyde  Park  orators.  You  get  every  sort 
of  mad  doctrine  in  Hyde  Park,  as  I  remember  it, 
but " 

"And  I  was  going  to  say  that  that  sort  of  thing  has 
got  away  beyond  Hyde  Park.  Why,  papa  dear,  you  have 
been  so  engrossed  in  your  Higher  Mathematics  that  you 
have  failed  to  keep  up  with  the  times."  His  eldest  daugh- 

[75] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


ter  smiled  at  him  and,  reaching-  across  the  corner  of  the 
table,  patted  his  hand  affectionately.  "We  are  away  be- 
yond being  shocked  at  profit  sharing,  and  even  sharing  in 
control  of  administration  and  that  sort  of  thing." 

"But  there  remains  justice,  I  hope,"  said  her  father, 
"and  the  right  of  ownership." 

"Ah,  that's  just  it — what  is  ownership?" 

"Oh,  come,  Adrien,"  said  Rupert,  "you  are  not  saying 
that  Mr.  Maitland  doesn't  own  his  factory  and  mill." 

"It  depends  on  what  you  mean  by  own,"  said  the  girl 
coolly.  "You  must  not  take  too  much  for  granted." 

"Well,  what  my  money  pays  for  I  own,  I  suppose," 
said  Rupert. 

"Well,"  said  Adrien,  "that  depends." 

"My  dear  Adrien,"  said  her  mother,  "you  have  such 
strange  notions.  I  suppose  you  got  them  in  those  Clubs 
in  London  and  from  those  queer  people  you  used  to 
meet." 

"Very  dear  people,"  said  Adrien,  with  a  far  away  look 
in  her  eyes,  "and  people  that  loved  justice  and  right." 

"All  right,  Ade,"  said  her  younger  sister,  with  a  saucy 
grin,  "I  agree  entirely  with  your  sentiments.  I  just  adore 
that  pale  blue  tie  of  yours.  I  suppose,  now  that  what's 
yours  is  mine,  I  can  pre-empt  that  when  I  like." 

"Let  me  catch  you  at  it!" 

"Well  done,  Patricia.  You  see  the  theories  are  all 
right  till  we  come  to  have  them  applied  all  round,"  said 
Rupert. 

"We  were  talking  of  joint  ownership,  Pat,"  said  her 
sister,  "the  joint  ownership  of  things  to  the  making  of 
which  we  have  each  contributed  a  part." 

"Exactly,"  said  Rupert.  "I  guess  Grant  Maitland  paid 
his  own  good  money  for  his  plant." 

"Yes,"  said  Adrien. 

[76] 


THE  RECTORY 


"Yes,  and  all  he  paid  for  he  owns." 

"Yes." 

"Well,  that's  all  there  is  to  it." 

"Oh,  pardon  me — there  is  a  good  deal  more " 

"Well,  well,  children,  we  shall  not  discuss  the  subject 
any  further.  Shall  we  all  go  up  for  coffee?" 

"These  are  very  radical  views  you  are  advancing, 
Adrien,"  said  her  father,  rising  from  his  chair.  "You 
must  be  careful  not  to  say  things  like  that  in  circles  where 
you  might  be  taken  seriously." 

"Seriously,  Daddy?  I  was  never  more  serious  in  my 
life."  She  put  her  arm  through  her  father's.  "I  must 
give  you  some  books,  some  reports  to  read,  I  see,"  she 
said,  laughing  up  into  his  face. 

"Evidently,"  said  her  father,  "if  I  am  to  live  with  you." 

"I  wonder  what  Captain  Jack  would  think  of  these 
views,"  said  Rupert,  dropping  into  step  with  Patricia  as 
they  left  the  dining  room  together. 

"He  will  think  as  Adrien  does,"  said  Patricia  stoutly. 

"Ah,  I  wouldn't  be  too  sure  about  that,"  said  Rupert. 
"You  see,  it  makes  a  difference  whose  ox  is  being  gored." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  cried  Patricia  hotly. 

"Never  mind,  Pat,"  said  her  sister  over  her  shoulder. 
"I  don't  think  he  knows  Captain  Jack  as  we  do." 

"Perhaps  better,"  said  Rupert  in  a  significant  tone. 

Patricia  drew  away  from  him. 

"I  think  you  are  just  horrid,"  she  said.  "Captain 
Jack  is " 

"Never  mind,  dear.  Don't  let  him  pull  your  leg  like 
that,"  said  her  sister,  with  a  little  colour  in  her  cheek. 
"We  know  Captain  Jack,  don't  we?" 

"We  do!"  said  Patricia  with  enthusiasm. 

"We  do!"  echoed  Rupert,  with  a  smile  that  drove  Pat 
into  a  fury. 

[77] 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  GRIEVANCE  COMMITTEE 

There  was  trouble  at  the  Maitland  Mills.  For  the  first 
time  in  his  history  Grant  Maitland  found  his  men  look 
askance  at  him.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  found 
himself  viewing  with  suspicion  the  workers  whom  he 
had  always  taken  a  pride  in  designating  "my  men."  The 
situation  was  at  once  galling  to  his  pride  and  shocking  to 
his  sense  of  fair  play.  His  men  were  his  comrades  in 
work.  He  knew  them — at  least,  until  these  war  days 
he  had  known  them — personally,  as  friends.  They 
trusted  him  and  were  loyal  to  him,  and  he  had  taken  the 
greatest  care  to  deal  justly  and  more  than  justly  by 
them.  No  labour  troubles  had  ever  disturbed  the  relations 
which  existed  between  him  and  his  men.  It  was  thus  no 
small  shock  when  Wickes  announced  one  day  that  a 
Grievance  Committee  wished  to  interview  him.  That  he 
should  have  to  meet  a  Grievance  Committee,  whose  boast 
it  had  been  that  the  first  man  in  the  works  to  know  of  a 
grievance  was  himself,  and  that  the  men  with  whom 
he  had  toiled  and  shared  both  good  fortune  and  ill,  but 
more  especially  the  good,  that  had  befallen  through  the 
last  quarter  century  should  have  a  grievance  against  him 
— this  was  indeed  an  experience  that  cut  him  to  the  heart 
and  roused  in  him  a  fury  of  perplexed  indignation. 

"A  what?  A  Grievance  Committee!"  he  exclaimed  to 
Wickes,  when  the  old  bookkeeper  came  announcing  such 
a  deputation. 

[78] 


THE  GRIEVANCE  COMMITTEE 


"That's  what  they  call  themselves,  sir,"  said  Wickes, 
his  tone  of  disgust  disclaiming  all  association  with  any 
such  organization. 

"A  Grievance  Committee?"  said  Mr.  Maitland  again. 

"Well,  I'll  be !  What  do  they  want?  Who  are 

they?  Bring  them  in,"  he  roared  in  a  voice  whose 
ascending  tone  indicated  his  growing  amazement  and 
wrath. 

"Come  in  you,"  growled  Wickes  in  the  voice  he  gen- 
erally used  for  his  collie  dog,  which  bore  a  thoroughly 
unenviable  reputation,  "come  on  in,  can't  ye?" 

There  was  some  shuffling  for  place  in  the  group  at  the 
door,  but  finally  Mr.  Wigglesworth  found  himself  pushed 
to  the  front  of  a  committee  of  five.  With  a  swift  glance 
which  touched  "the  boss"  in  its  passage  and  then  rested 
upon  the  wall,  the  ceiling,  the  landscape  visible  through 
the  window,  anywhere  indeed  rather  than  upon  the  face 
of  the  man  against  whom  they  had  a  grievance,  they  filed 
in  and  stood  ill  at  ease. 

"Well,  Wigglesworth,  what  is  it?"  said  Grant  Mait- 
land curtly. 

Mr.  Wigglesworth  cleared  his  throat.  He  was  new 
at  the  business  and  was  obviously  torn  between  conflicting 
emotions  of  pride  in  his  present  important  position  and 
a  wholesome  fear  of  his  "boss."  However,  having 
cleared  his  throat,  Mr.  Wigglesworth  pulled  himself 
together  and  with  a  wave  of  the  hand  began. 

"These  'ere — er — gentlemen  an'  myself  'ave  been 
(h)appinted  a  Committee  to  lay  before  you  certain 
grievances  w'ich  we  feel  to  be  very  (h) oppressive,  sir,  so 
to  speak,  w'ich,  an'  meanin'  no  offence,  sir,  as  men, 
fellow-men,  as  we  might  say " 

"What  do  you  want,  Wigglesworth?     What's  your 

[79] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


trouble?  You  have  some  trouble,  what  is  it?  Spit  it 
out,  man,"  said  the  boss  sharply. 

"Well,  sir,  as  I  was  a-sayin',  this  'ere's  a  Committee 
(h)appinted  to  wait  on  you,  sir,  to  lay  before  you  cer- 
tain facts  w'ich  we  wish  you  to  consider  an'  w'ich,  as 
British  subjecks,  we  feel " 

"Come,  come,  Wiggles  worth,  cut  out  the  speech,  and 
get  at  the  things.  What  do  you  want?  Do  you  know? 
If  so,  tell  me  plainly  and  get  done  with  it." 

"We  want  our  rights  as  men,"  said  Mr.  Wigglesworth 
in  a  loud  voice,  "our  rights  as  free  men,  and  we  demand 
to  be  treated  as  British " 

"Is  there  anyone  of  this  Committee  that  can  tell  me 
what  you  want  of  me?"  said  Maitland.  "You,  Gilby, 
you  have  some  sense — what  is  the  trouble?  You  want 
more  wages,  I  suppose?" 

"I  guess  so,"  said  Gilby,  a  long,  lean  man,  Canadian 
born,  of  about  thirty,  "but  it  ain't  the  wages  that's  eatin* 
me  so  much." 

"What  then?" 

"It's  that  blank  foreman." 

"Foreman  ?" 

"That's  right,  sir."  "Too  blanked  smart!"  "Buttin' 
in  like  a  blank  billy  goat !"  The  growls  came  in  various 
undertones  from  the  Committee. 

"What  foreman?  Hoddle?"  The  boss  was  ready  to 
fight  for  his  subalterns. 

"No!  Old  Hoddle's  all  right,"  said  Gilby.  "It's  that 
young  smart  aleck,  Tony  Perrotte." 

"Tony  Perrotte!"  Mr.  Maitland's  voice  was  troubled 
and  uncertain.  "Tony  Perrotte !  Why,  you  don't  mean 
to  tell  me  that  Perrotte  is  not  a  good  man.  He  knows  his 
job  from  the  ground  up." 

"Knows  too  much,"  said  Gilby.  "Wants  to  run 
[80] 


THE  GRIEVANCE  COMMITTEE 


everything  and  everybody.  You  can't  tell  him  anything. 
And  you'd  think  he  was  a  Brigadier-Genera]  to  hear  him 
giving  us  orders." 

"You  were  at  the  front,  Gilby?" 

"I  was,  for  three  years." 

"You  know  what  discipline  is?" 

"I  do  that,  and  I  know  too  the  difference  between  a 
Corporal  and  a  Company  Commander.  I  know  an  officer 
when  I  see  him.  But  a  brass  hat  don't  make  a  General." 

"I  won't  stand  for  insubordination  in  my  mills,  Gilby. 
You  must  take  orders  from  my  foreman.  You  know  me, 
Gilby.  You've  been  long  enough  with  me  for  that." 

"You  treat  a  man  fair,  Mr.  Maitland,  and  I  never 
kicked  at  your  orders.  Ain't  that  so?" 

Maitland  nodded. 

"But  this  young  dude " 

"  'Dude'  ?  What  do  you  mean,  'dude'  ?  He's  no 
dude!" 

"Oh,  he's  so  stuck  on  himself  that  he  gives  me  the 
wearisome  willies.  Look  here,  other  folks  has  been  to 
the  war.  He  needn't  carry  his  chest  like  a  blanked  bay 
window." 

"Look  here,  Gilby,  just  quit  swearing  in  this  room." 
The  cold  blue  eyes  bored  into  Gilby's  hot  face. 

"I  beg  pardon,  sir.  It's  a  bad  habit  I've  got,  but  that 
— that  Tony  Perrotte  has  got  my  goat  and  I'm  through 
with  him." 

"All  right,  Gilby.  If  you  don't  like  your  job  you  know 
what  you  can  do,"  said  Maitland  coldly. 

"You  mean  I  can  quit?"  enquired  Gilby  hotly. 

"I  mean  there's  only  one  boss  in  these  works,  and  that's 
me.  And  my  foreman  takes  my  orders  and  passes  them 
along.  Those  that  don't  like  them  needn't  take  them." 

[81] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


"We  demand  our  rights  as "  began  Mr.  Wiggles- 
worth  heatedly. 

"Excuse  me,  sir.  'A  should  like  to  enquir-r-e  if  it  is 
your-r  or-rder-rs  that  your-r  for-r-man  should  use  blas- 
phemious  language  to  your-r  men?" 

The  cool,  firm,  rasping  voice  cut  through  Mr.  Wiggles- 
worth's  sputtering  noise  like  a  circular  saw  through  a 
pine  log. 

Mr.  Maitland  turned  sharply  upon  the  speaker. 

"What  is  your  name,  my  man?"  he  enquired. 

"Ma  name  is  Malcolm  McNish.  'A  doot  ye  have  na 
har-r-d  it.  But  the  name  maitters  little.  It's  the  question 
'A'm  speerin' — asking  at  ye." 

Here  was  no  amateur  in  the  business  of  Grievance 
Committees.  His  manner  was  that  of  a  self-respecting 
man  dealing  with  a  fellow-man  on  terms  of  perfect 
equality.  There  was  a  complete  absence  of  Wiggles- 
worth's  noisy  bluster,  as  also  of  Gilby's  violent  profanity. 
He  obviously  knew  his  ground  and  was  ready  to  hold  it. 
He  had  a  case  and  was  prepared  to  discuss  it.  There  was 
no  occasion  for  heat  or  bluster  or  profanity.  He  was 
prepared  to  discuss  the  matter,  man  to  man. 

Mr.  Maitland  regarded  him  for  a  moment  or  two  with 
keen  steady  gaze. 

"Where  do  you  work,  McNish?"  he  enquired  of  the 
Scot. 

"A'm  workin'  me  noo  in  the  sawmill.  A'm  a  joiner 
to  trade." 

"Then  Perrotte  is  not  your  foreman?" 

"That  is  true,"  said  McNish  quietly. 

"Then  personally  you  have  no  grievance  against  him?" 
Mr.  Maitland  had  the  air  of  a  man  who  has  scored  a 
bull  at  the  first  shot. 
[82] 


THE  GRIEVANCE  COMMITTEE 


"Ay,  A  have  an'  the  men  tae — the  men  I  represent 
have " 

"And  you  assume  to  speak  for  them?" 

"They  appoint  me  to  speak  for  them." 

"And  their  complaint  is ?" 

"Their  complaint  is  that  he  is  no  fit  to  be  a  foreman." 

"Ah,  indeed!  And  you  are  here  solely  on  fneir 
word " 

"No,  not  solely,  but  pairtly.  A  know  by  experience 
and  A  hae  har-r-d  the  man,  and  he's  no  fit  for  his  job, 
A'm  tellin'  you." 

"I  suppose  you  know  the  qualifications  of  a  foreman, 
McNish?"  enquired  Mr.  Maitland  with  the  suspicion  of 
sarcasm  in  his  voice. 

"Ay,  A  do  that." 

"And  how,  may  I  ask,  have  you  come  to  the  knowl- 
edge?" 

"A  dinna  see — I  do  not  see  the  bearing  of  the  ques- 
tion." 

"Only  this,  that  you  and  those  you  represent  place 
your  judgment  as  superior  to  mine  in  the  choice  of  a 
foreman.  It  would  be  interesting  to  know  upon  what 
grounds." 

"I  have  been  a  foreman  myself.  But  there  are  two 
points  of  view  in  this  question — the  point  of  view  of  the 
management  and  that  of  the  worker.  We  have  the  one 
point  of  view,  you  have  the  other.  And  each  has  its 
value.  Ours  is  the  more  important." 

"Indeed!     And  why,  pray?" 

"Yours  has  chiefly  to  do  with  profits,  ours  with  human 
life." 

"Very  interesting  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Maitland,  "but  it 
happens  that  profits  and  human  life  are  somewhat  closely 
allied " 

[83] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


"Aye,  but  wi'  you  profits  are  the  primary  consideration 
and  humanity  the  secondary.  Wi'  us  humanity  is  the 
primary." 

"Very  interesting,  indeed.  But  I  must  decline  your 
premise.  You  are  a  new  man  here  and  so  I  will  excuse 
you  the  impudence  of  charging  me  with  indifference  to 
the  well-being  of  my  men." 

"You  put  wur-r-ds  in  my  mouth,  Mr.  Maitland.  A 
said  nae  sic  thing,"  said  McNish.  "But  your  foreman 
disna'  know  his  place,  and  he  must  be  changed." 

"  'Must/  eh?"  The  word  had  never  been  used  to  Mr. 
Maitland  since  his  own  father  fifty  years  before  had 
used  it.  It  was  an  unfortunate  word  for  the  success  of 
the  interview.  "'Must,'  eh?"  repeated  Mr.  Maitland 
with  rising  wrath.  "I'd  have  you  know,  McNish,  that 
the  man  doesn't  live  that  says  'must'  to  me  in  regard  to 
the  men  I  choose  to  manage  my  business." 

"Then  you  refuse  to  remove  yere  foreman?" 

"Most  emphatically,  I  do,"  said  Mr.  Maitland  with 
glints  of  fire  in  his  blue  eyes. 

"Verra  weel,  so  as  we  know  yere  answer.  There  is 
anither  matter." 

"Yes?    Well,  be  quick  about  it." 

"A  wull  that.   Ye  dinna  pay  yere  men  enough  wages." 

"How  do  you  know  I  don't?"  said  Mr.  Maitland  rising 
from  his  chair. 

"A  have  examined  certain  feegures  which  I  shall  be 
glad  to  submit  tae  ye,  in  regard  tae  the  cost  o'  leevin'  since 
last  ye  fixed  the  wage.  If  yere  wage  was  right  then,  it's 
wrang  the  noo."  Under  the  strain  Mr.  Maitland's  boring 
eyes  and  increasing  impatience  the  Dorie  flavour  of  Mc- 
Nish's  speech  grew  richer  and  more  guttural,  varying  with 
the  intensity  of  his  emotion. 

[84] 


THE  GRIEVANCE  COMMITTEE 


"And  what  may  these  figures  be?"  enquired  Mr.  Mait- 
land  with  a  voice  of  contempt. 

"These  are  the  figures  prepared  by  the  Labour  Depart- 
ment of  your  Federal  Government.  I  suppose  they  may 
be  relied  upon.  They  show  the  increased  cost  of  living 
during  the  last  five  years.  You  know  yeresel'  the  in- 
crease in  wages.  Mr.  Maitland,  I  am  told  ye  are  a  just 
man,  an'  we  ask  ye  tae  dae  the  r-r-right.  That's  all,  sir." 

"Thank  you  for  your  good  opinion,  my  man.  Whether 
I  am  a  just  man  or  not  is  for  my  own  conscience  alone. 
As  to  the  wage  question,  Mr.  Wickes  will  tell  you,  the 
matter  had  already  been  taken  up.  The  result  will  be 
announced  in  a  week  or  so." 

"Thank  you,  sir.  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Wiggles- 
worth.  "We  felt  sure  it  would  only  be  necessary  to  point 
(h)out  the  right  course  to  you.  I  may  say  I  took  the 
same  (h)  identical  (h) attitude  with  my  fellow  workmen. 
I  sez  to  them,  sez  I,  'Mr.  Maitland ' ' 

"That  will  do,  Wigglesworth,"  said  Mr.  Maitland, 
cutting  him  short.  "Have  you  anything  more  to  say?" 
he  continued,  turning  to  McNish. 

"Nothing,  sir,  except  to  express  the  hope  that  you  will 
reconsider  yere  attitude  as  regards  the  foreman." 

"You  may  take  my  word  for  it,  I  will  not,"  said  Mr. 
Maitland,  snapping  his  words  off  with  his  teeth. 

"At  least,  as  a  fair-minded  man,  you  will  look  into  the 
matter,"  said  McNish  temperately. 

"I  shall  do  as  I  think  best,"  said  Mr.  Maitland. 

"It  would  be  wiser." 

"Do  you  threaten  me,  sir?"  Mr.  Maitland  leaned  over 
his  desk  toward  the  calm  and  rugged  Scot,  his  eyes 
flashing  indignation. 

"Threaten  ye?    Na,  na,  threats  are  for  bairns.    Yere 

[85] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


no  a  bairn,  but  a  man  an'  a  wise  man  an'  a  just,  A  doot. 
A'm  gie'in'  ye  advice.  That's  all.  Guid  day." 

He  turned  away  from  the  indignant  Mr.  Maitland, 
put  his  hat  on  his  head  and  walked  from  the  room, 
followed  by  the  other  members  of  the  Committee,  with 
the  exception  of  Mr.  Wigglesworth.  who  lingered  with 
evidently  pacific  intentions. 

"This,  sir,  is  a  most  (h) auspicious  (h)era,  sir.  The 
(h)age  of  reason  and  justice  'as  dawned,  an' " 

"Oh,  get  out,  Wigglesworth.  Haven't  you  made  all 
your  speeches  yet?  The  time  for  the  speeches  is  past. 
Good  day." 

He  turned  to  his  bookkeeper. 

"Wickes,  bring  me  the  reports  turned  in  by  Perrotte,  at 
once." 

Mr.  Maitland's  manner  was  frankly,  almost  brutally, 
imperious.  It  was  not  his  usual  manner  with  his  subor- 
dinates, from  which  it  may  be  gathered  that  Mr.  Mait- 
land was  seriously  disturbed.  And  with  good  reason. 
In  the  first  place,  never  in  his  career  had  one  of  his  men 
addressed  him  in  the  cool  terms  of  equality  which  Mc- 
Nish  had  used  with  him  in  the  recent  interview.  Then, 
never  had  he  been  approached  by  a  Grievance  Committee. 
The  whole  situation  was  new,  irritating,  humiliating. 

As  to  the  wages  question,  he  would  settle  that  without 
difficulty.  He  had  never  skimped  the  pay  envelope.  It 
annoyed  him,  however,  that  he  had  been  forstalled  in  the 
matter  by  this  Committee.  But  very  especially  he  was 
annoyed  by  the  recollection  of  the  deliberative,  rasping 
tones  of  that  cool-headed  Scot,  who  had  so  calmly  set 
before  him  his  duty.  But  the  sting  of  the  interview  lay 
in  the  consciousness  that  the  criticism  of  his  foreman  was 
probably  just.  And  then,  he  was  tied  to  Tony  Perrotte  by 
bonds  that  reached  his  heart.  Had  it  not  been  so,  he  would 
[86] 


THE  GRIEVANCE  COMMITTEE 


have  made  short  work  of  the  business.  As  it  was,  Tony 
would  have  to  stay  at  all  costs.  Mr.  Maitland  sat  back  in 
his  chair,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  Big  Bluff  visible  through 
the  window,  but  his  mind  lingering  over  a  picture  that  had 
often  gripped  hard  at  his  heart  during  the  last  two  years, 
a  picture  drawn  for  him  in  a  letter  from  his  remaining 
son,  Jack.  The  letter  lay  in  the  desk  at  his  hand.  He 
saw  in  the  black  night  that  shell-torn  strip  of  land  between 
the  lines,  black  as  a  ploughed  field,  lurid  for  a  swift 
moment  under  the  red  glare  of  a  bursting  shell  or 
ghastly  in  the  sickly  illumination  of  a  Verry  light,  and 
over  this  black  pitted  earth  a  man  painfully  staggering 
with  a  wounded  man  on  his  back.  The  words  leaped  to 
his  eyes.  "He  brought  me  out  of  that  hell,  Dad."  He 
closed  his  eyes  to  shut  out  that  picture,  his  hands  clenched 
on  the  arms  of  his  chair. 

"No,"  he  said,  raising  his  hand  in  solemn  affirmation, 
"as  the  Lord  God  liveth,  while  I  stay  he  stays." 

"Come  in,"  he  said,  in  answer  to  a  timid  tap  at  the 
office  door.  Mr.  Wickes  laid  a  file  before  him.  It 
needed  only  a  rapid  survey  of  the  sheets  to  give  him  the 
whole  story.  Incompetence  and  worse,  sheer  carelessness 
looked  up  at  him  from  every  sheet.  The  planing  mill  was 
in  a  state  of  chaotic  disorganization. 

"What  does  this  mean,  Mr.  Wickes?"  he  burst  forth, 
putting  his  finger  upon  an  item  that  cried  out  mismanage- 
ment and  blundering.  "Here  is  an  order  that  takes  a 
month  to  clear  which  should  be  done  within  ten  days  at 
the  longest." 

Wickes  stood  silent,  overwhelmed  in  dismayed  self- 
condemnation. 

"It  seems  difficult  somehow  to  get  orders  through,  sir, 
these  days,"  he  said  after  a  pause. 

"Difficult?     Wrhat    is   the    difficulty?     The    men   are 

[87] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


there,  the  machines  are  there,  the  material  is  in  the  yard. 
Why  the  delay?  And  look  at  this.  Here  is  a  lot  of  ma- 
terial gone  to  the  scrap  heap,  the  finest  spruce  ever  grown 
in  Canada  too.  What  does  this  mean,  Wickes?"  He 
seemed  to  welcome  the  opportunity  of  finding  a  scapegoat 
for  economic  crimes,  for  which  he  could  find  no  pardon. 

Sheet  after  shet  passed  in  swift  review  under  his  eye. 
Suddenly  he  flung  himself  back  in  his  chair. 

"Wickes,  this  is  simply  damnable!" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Wickes,  his  face  pale  and  his  fingers 
trembling.  "I  don't — I  don't  seem  to  be  able  to — to — get 
things  through." 

"Get  things  through?  I  should  say  not,"  shouted  Mait- 
land,  glaring  at  him. 

"I  have  tried,  I  mean  I'm  afraid  I'm — that  I  am  not 

quite  up  to  it,  as  I  used  to  be.    I  get  confused — and " 

The  old  bookkeeper's  lips  were  white  and  quivering.  He 
could  not  get  on  with  his  story. 

"Here,  take  these  away,"  roared  Maitland. 

Gathering  up  the  sheets  with  fingers  that  trembled 
helplessly,  Wickes  crept  hurriedly  out  through  the  door, 
leaving  a  man  behind  him  furiously,  helplessly  struggling 
in  the  relentless  grip  of  his  conscience,  lashed  with  a  sense 
of  his  own  injustice.  His  anger  which  had  found  vent 
upon  his  old  bookkeeper  he  knew  was  due  another  man, 
a  man  with  whom  at  any  cost  he  could  never  allow  himself 
to  be  angry.  The  next  two  hours  were  bad  hours  for 
Grant  Maitland. 

As  the  quitting  whistle  blew  a  tap  came  again  to  the 
office  door.  It  was  Wickes,  with  a  paper  in  his  hand. 
Without  a  word  he  laid  the  paper  upon  his  chief's  desk 
and  turned  away.  Maitland  glanced  over  it  rapidly. 

"Wickes,  what  does  this  nonsense  mean  ?"    His  chief's 
voice  arrested  him.    He  turned  again  to  the  desk. 
[88] 


THE  GRIEVANCE  COMMITTEE 


"I  don't  think — I  have  come  to  feel,  sir,  that  I  am  not 
able  for  my  job.  I  do  not  see  as  how  I  can  go  on." 

Maitland's  brows  frowned  upon  the  sheet.  Slowly  he 
picked  up  the  paper,  tore  it  across  and  tossed  it  into  the 
waste  basket. 

"Wickes,  you  are  an  old  fool — and,"  he  added  in  a 
voice  that  grew  husky,  "I  am  another  and  worse." 

"But,  sir "  began  Wickes,  in  hurried  tones. 

"Oh,  cut  it  all  out,  Wickes,"  said  Maitland  impatiently. 
"You  know  I  won't  stand  for  that.  But  what  can  we  do  ? 
He  saved  my  boy's  life " 

"Yes,  sir,  and  he  was  with  my  Stephen  at  the  last, 
and "  The  old  man's  voice  suddenly  broke. 

"I  remember,  Wickes,  I  remember.  And  that's  another 
reason —  We  must  find  another  way  out." 

"I  have  been  thinking,  sir,"  said  the  bookkeeper  timidly, 
"if  you  had  a  younger  man  in  my  place " 

"You  would  go  out,  eh?  I  believe  on  my  soul  you 
would.  You — you — old  fool.  But,"  said  Maitland, 
reaching  his  hand  across  the  desk,  "I  don't  go  back  on  old 
friends  that  way." 

The  two  men  stood  facing  each  other  for  a  few 
minutes,  with  hands  clasped,  Maitland's  face  stern  and 
set,  Wickes'  working  in  a  pitiful  effort  to  stay  the  tears 
that  ran  down  his  cheeks,  to  choke  back  the  sobs  that 
shook  his  old  body  as  if  in  the  grip  of  some  unseen 
powerful  hand. 

"We  must  find  a  way,"  said  Maitland,  when  he  felt 
sure  of  his  voice.  "Some  way,  but  not  that  way.  Sit 
down.  We  must  go  through  this  together." 


[89] 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE   FOREMAN 

Grant  Maitl?nd's  business  instincts  and  training  were 
such  as  to  forbid  any  trifling-  with  loose  management  in 
any  department  of  his  plant.  He  was,  moreover,  too  just 
a  man  to  allow  any  of  his  workmen  to  suffer  for  failures 
not  their  own.  His  first  step  was  to  get  at  the  facts.  His 
preliminary  move  was  characteristic  of  him.  He  sent 
for  McNish. 

"McNish,"  he  said,  "your  figures  I  have  examined. 
They  tell  me  nothing  I  did  not  know,  but  they  are  cleverly 
set  down.  The  matter  of  wages  I  shall  deal  with  as  I  have 
always  dealt  with  it  in  my  business.  The  other  mat- 
ter  "  Mr.  Maitland  paused,  then  proceeded  with  grave 

deliberation,  "I  must  deal  with  in  my  own  way.  It  will 
take  a  little  time.  I  shall  not  delay  unnecessarily,  but  I 
shall  accept  dictation  from  no  man  as  to  my  methods." 

McNish  stood  silently  searching  his  face  with  steady 
eyes. 

"You  are  a  new  man  here,  and  I  find  you  are  a  good 
workman,"  continued  Mr.  Maitland.  "I  don't  know  you 
nor  your  aims  and  purposes  in  this  Grievance  Com- 
mittee business  of  yours.  If  you  want  a  steady  job  with 
a  chance  to  get  on,  you  will  get  both ;  if  you  want  trouble, 
you  can  get  that  too,  but  not  for  long,  here." 

Still  the  Scot  held  him  with  grave  steady  gaze,  but 
speaking  no  word. 

"You  understand  me,  McNish?"  said  Maitland,  nettled 
at  the  man's  silence. 

[90] 


THE  FOREMAN 


"Aye,  A've  got  a  heid,"  he  said  in  an  impassive  voice. 

"Well,  then,  I  hope  you  will  govern  yourself  accord- 
ingly. Good-day,"  said  Maitland,  closing  the  interview. 

McNish  still  stood  immovable. 

"That's  all  I  have  to  say,"  said  Maitland,  glancing 
impatiently  at  the  man. 

"But  it's  no  all  A  have  to  say,  if  ye  will  pairmit  me/' 
answered  McNish  in  a  voice  quiet  and  respectful  and 
apparently,  except  for  its  Doric  flavour,  quite  untouched 
by  emotion  of  any  kind  soever. 

"Go  on,"  said  Maitland  shortly,  as  the  Scot  stood 
waiting. 

"Maister  Maitland,"  said  McNish,  rolling  out  a  deeper 
Doric,  "ye  have  made  a  promise  and  a  threat.  Yere 
threat  is  naething  tae  me.  As  tae  yere  job,  A  want  it  and 
A  want  tae  get  on,  but  A'm  a  free  man  the  noo  an'  a  free 
man  A  shall  ever  be.  Good-day  tae  ye."  He  bowed 
respectfully  to  his  employer  and  strode  from  the  room. 

Mr.  Maitland  sat  looking  at  the  closed  door. 

"He  is  a  man,  that  chap,  at  any  rate,"  rie  said  to  him- 
self, "but  what's  his  game,  I  wonder.  He  will  bear 
watching." 

The  very  next  day  Maitland  made  a  close  inspection 
of  his  plant,  beginning  with  the  sawmill.  He  found 
McNish  running  one  of  the  larger  circular  saws,  and  none 
too  deftly.  He  stood  observing  the  man  for  some 
moments  in  silence.  Then  stepping  to  the  workman's 
side  he  said, 

"You  will  save  time,  I  think,  if  you  do  it  this  way." 
He  seized  the  levers  and,  eliminating  an  unnecessary 
movement,  ran  the  log.  McNish  stood  calmjy  observing. 

"Aye,  yere  r-right,"  he  said.  "Ye'll  have  done  yon 
before." 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


"You  just  bet  I  have,"  said  Maitland,  not  a  little 
pleased  with  himself. 

"A'm  no  saw  man,"  said  McNish,  a  little  sullenly. 
"A  dinna  ken — I  don't  know  saws  of  this  sort.  I'm  a 
joiner.  He  put  me  off  the  bench." 

"Who?"  said  Maitland  quickly. 

"Yon  manny,"  replied  McNish  with  unmistakable 
disgust. 

"You  were  on  the  bench,  eh?  What  sort  of  work  were 
you  on?" 

"A  was  daein'  a  bit  counter  work.  A  wasna  fast 
enough  for  him." 

Mr.  Maitland  called  the  head  sawyer. 

"Put  a  man  on  here  for  a  while,  Powell,  will  you? 
You  come  with  me,  McNish." 

Together  they  went  into  the  planing  mill.  Asking  for 
the  foreman  he  found  that  he  was  nowhere  to  be  seen, 
that  indeed  he  had  not  been  in  the  mill  that  morning. 

"Show  me  your  work,  McNish,"  he  said. 

McNish  led  him  to  a  corner  of  the  mill  where  some 
fine  counter  work  was  in  process. 

"That's  my  work,"  he  said,  pointing  to  a  piece  of  oak 
railing. 

Maitland,  turning  the  work  over  in  his  hands,  ran  his 
finger  along  a  joint  somewhat  clumsily  fitted. 

"Not  that,"  said  McNish  hastily.  "Ma  work  stops 
here." 

Again  Maitland  examined  the  rail.  His  experienced 
eye  detected  easily  the  difference  in  the  workmanship. 

"Is  there  anything  else  of  yours  about  here?"  he  asked. 
McNish  went  to  a  pile  of  finished  work  and  from  it 
selected  a  small  swing  door  beautifully  panelled.  Mait- 
land's  eye  gleamed. 

"Ah,  that's  better,"  he  said.     "Yes,  that's  better." 

[92] 


THE  FOREMAN 


He  turned  to  one  of  the  workmen  at  the  bench  near  by. 

"What  job  is  this,  Gibbon?"  he  asked. 

"It's  the  Bank  job,  I  think,"  said  Gibbon. 

"What?  The  Merchants'  Bank  job?  Surely  that  can't 
be.  That  job  was  due  two  weeks  ago."  Maitland  turned 
impatiently  toward  an  older  man.  "Ellis,"  he  said 
sharply,  "do  you  know  what  job  this  is?" 

Ellis  came  and  turned  over  the  different  parts  of  the 
work. 

"That's  the  Merchants'  Bank  job,  sir,"  he  said. 

"Then  what  is  holding  this  up?"  enquired  Maitland 
wrath  fully. 

"It's  the  turned  work,  I  think,  sir.  I  am  not  sure,  but 
I  think  I  heard  Mr.  Perrotte  asking  about  that  two  or  three 
days  ago."  Mr.  Maitland's  lips  met  in  a  thin  straight 
line. 

"You  can  go  back  to  your  saw,  McNish,"  he  said 
shortly. 

"Ay,  sir,"  said  McNish,  his  tone  indicating  quiet  satis- 
faction. At  Gibbon's  bench  he  paused.  "Ye'll  no  pit 
onything  past  him,  a  doot,"  he  said,  with  a  grim  smile, 
and  passed  out. 

In  every  part  of  the  shop  Mr.  Maitland  found  similar 
examples  of  mismanagement  and  lack  of  co-ordination  in 
the  various  departments  of  the  work.  It  needed  no  more 
than  a  cursory  inspection  to  convince  him  that  a  change 
of  foreman  was  a  simple  necessity.  Everywhere  he 
found  not  only  evidence  of  waste  of  time  but  also  of  waste 
of  material.  It  cut  him  to  the  heart  to  see  beautiful  wood 
mangled  and  ruined.  All  his  life  he  had  worked  with 
woods  of  different  kinds.  He  knew  them  standing  in 
all  their  matchless  grandeur,  in  the  primeval  forest  and 
had  followed  them  step  by  step  all  the  way  to  the  finished 
product.  Never  without  a  heart  pang  did  he  witness  a 

[93] 


noble  white  pine,  God's  handiwork  of  centuries,  come 
crashing  to  earth  through  the  meaner  growth  beneath 
the  chopper's  axe.  The  only  thing  that  redeemed  such  a 
deed  from  sacrilege,  in  his  mind,  was  to  see  the  tree  fit- 
tingly transformed  into  articles  of  beauty  and  worth  suit- 
able for  man's  use.  Hence,  when  he  saw  lying  here  and 
there  deformed  and  disfigured  fragments  of  the  exquisitely 
grained  white  spruce,  which  during  the  war,  he  had  with 
such  care  selected  for  his  aeroplane  parts,  his  very  heart 
rose  in  indignant  wrath.  And  filled  with  this  wrath  he 
made  his  way  to  the  office  and  straightway  summoned 
Wickes  and  his  son  Jack  to  conference. 

"Tony  will  never  make  a  worker  in  wood.  He  cares 
nothing  for  it,"  he  said  bitterly. 

"Nor  in  anything  else,  Dad,"  said  Jack,  with  a  little 
laugh. 

"You  laugh,  but  it  is  no  laughing  matter,"  said  his 
father  reproachfully. 

"I  am  sorry,  Father,  but  you  know  I  always  thought 
it  was  a  mistake  to  put  Tony  in  charge  of  anything. 
Why,  he  might  have  had  his  commlission  if  he  were  not 
such  an  irresponsible,  downwright  lazy  beggar.  What  he 
needs,  as  my  Colonel  used  to  profanely  say,  is  'a  good 
old-fashioned  Sergeant-Major  to  knock  hell  out  of  him'. 
And,  believe  me,  Tony  was  a  rattling  fine  soldier  if  his 
officer  would  regularly,  systematically  and  effectively  ex- 
pel his  own  special  devil  from  his  system.  He  needs  that 
still." 

"What  can  we  do  with  him?  I  simply  can't  and 
won't  dismiss  him,,  as  that  infernally  efficent  and  cool- 
headed  Scot  demands.  You  heard  about  the  Grievance 
Committee?" 

"Oh,  the  town  has  the  story  with  embellishments. 
Rupert  Stillwell  took  care  to  give  me  a  picturesque  ac- 

[94] 


THE  FOREMAN 


count.  But  I  would  not  hesitate,  Dad.  Kick  Tony  a 
good  swift  kick  once  a  week  or  so,  or,  if  that  is  beneath 
your  dignity,  fire  him." 

"But,  Jack,  lad,  we  can't  do  that,"  said  his  father, 
greatly  distressed,  "after  what " 

"Why  not?  He  carried  me  out  of  that  hell  all  right, 
and  while  I  live  I  shall  remember  that.  But  he  is  a  selfish 
beggar.  He  hasn't  the  instinct  for  team  play.  He  hasn't 
the  idea  of  responsibility  for  the  team.  He  gets  so  that 
he  can  not  make  himself  do  what  he  just  doesn't  feel  like 
doing.  He  doesn't  care  a  tinker's  curse  for  the  other 
fellows  in  the  game  with  him." 

"The  man  that  doesn't  care  for  other  fellows  will  never 
make  a  foreman,"  said  Mr.  Maitland  decisively.  "But 
can't  something  be  done  with  him?" 

"There's  only  one  way  to  handle  Tony,"  said  Jack. 
"I  learned  that  long  ago  in  school.  He  was  a  prince  of 
half-backs,  you  know,  but  I  had  regularly  to  kick  him 
about  before  every  big  match.  Oh,  Tony  is  a  fine  sort 
but  he  nearly  broke  my  heart  till  I  nearly  broke  his  back." 

"That  does  not  help  much,  Jack."  For  the  first  time  in 
his  life  Grant  Maitland  was  at  a  loss  as  to  how  he  should 
handle  one  of  his  men.  Were  it  not  for  the  letter  in  the 
desk  at  his  hand  he  would  have  made  short  work  of  Tony 
Perrotte.  But  there  the  letter  lay  and  in  his  heart  the 
inerasible  picture  it  set  forth. 

"What  is  the  special  form  that  Tony's  devilment  has 
taken,  may  I  ask?"  enquired  Jack. 

"Well,  I  may  say  to  you,  what  Wickes  knows  and  has 
known  and  has  tried  for  three  months  to  hide  from  me 
and  from  himself,  Tony  has  made  about  as  complete  a 
mess  of  the  organization  under  his  care  in  the  planing  mill 
as  can  be  imagined.  The  mill  is  strewn  with  the  wreckage 
of  unfulfilled  orders.  He  has  no  sense  of  time  value. 

[95] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


To-morrow  is  as  good  as  to-day,  next  week  as  this  week. 
A  foreman  without  a  sense  of  time  value  is  no  good. 
And  he  does  not  value  material.  Waste  to  him  is  noth- 
ing. Another  fatal  defect.  The  man  to  whom  minutes 
are  not  potential  gold  and  material  potential  product  can 
never  hope  to  be  a  manufacturer.  If  only  I  had  not  been 
away  from  home !  But  the  thing  is,  what  is  to  be  done  ?" 

"In  the  words  of  a  famous  statesman  much -abused 
indeed,  I  suggest,  'Wait  and  see.'  Meantime,  find  some 
way  of  kicking  him  into  his  job." 

This  proved  to  be  in  the  present  situation  a  policy  of 
wisdom.  It  was  Tony  himself  who  furnished  the  solu- 
tion. From  the  men  supposed  to  be  working  under  his 
orders  he  learned  the  day  following  Maitland's  visit  of 
inspection  something  of  the  details  of  that  visit.  He 
quickly  made  up  his  mind  that  the  day  of  reckoning  could 
not  long  be  postponed.  None  knew  better  than  Tony 
himself  that  he  was  no  foreman;  none  so  well  that  he 
loathed  the  job  which  had  been  thrust  upon  him  by  the 
father  of  the  man  whom  he  had  carried  out  from  the  very 
mouth  of  hell.  It  was  something  to  his  credit  that  he 
loathed  himself  for  accepting  the  position.  Yet,  with 
irresponsible  procrastination,  he  put  off  the  day  of  reckon- 
ing. But,  some  ten  days  later,  and  after  a  night  with  some 
kindred  spirits  of  his  own  Battalion,  a  night  prolonged 
into  the  early  hours  of  the  working  day,  Tony  presented 
himself  at  the  office,  gay,  reckless,  desperate,  but  quite 
compos  'mentis  and  quite  master  of  his  means  of  loco- 
motion. 

He  appeared  in  the  outer  office,  still  in  his  evening 
garb. 

"Mr.  Wickes,"  he  said  in  solemn  gravity,  "please  have 
your  stenographer  take  this  letter." 

Mr.  Wickes,  aghast,  strove  to  hush  Ms  vibrant  tones, 
[96] 


THE  FOREMAN 


indicating  in  excited  pantomime  the  presence  of  the  chief 
in  the  inner  office.  He  might  as  effectively  have  striven 
to  stay  the  East  wind  at  that  time  sweeping  up  the  valley. 

"Are  you  ready,  my  dear?"  said  Tony,  smiling  pleas- 
antly at  the  girl.  "All  right,  proceed.  'Dear  Mr.  Mait- 
land:'  Got  that?  'Conscious  of  my  unfitness  for  the 
position  of  foreman  in '  " 

"Hush,  hush,  Tony,"  implored  Mr.  Wickes. 

Tony  waved  him  aside. 

"What  have  you  got,  eh?" 

At  that  point  the  door  opened  and  Grant  Maitland 
stepped  into  the  office.  Tony  rose  to  his  feet  and,  bowing 
with  elaborate  grace  and  dignity,  he  addressed  his  chief. 

"Good  morning,  sir.  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  in  fact,  I 
wanted  to  see  you  but  wishing  to  save  your  time  I  was 
in  the  very  act  of  dictating  a  communication  to  you." 

"Indeed,  Tony?"  said  Mr.  Maitland  gravely. 

"Yes,  sir,  I  was  on  the  point  of  dictating  my  resigna- 
tion of  my  position  of  foreman." 

"Step  in  to  the  office,  Tony,"  said  Mr.  Maitland  kindly 
and  sadly. 

"I  don't  wish  to  take  your  time,  sir,"  said  Tony, 
sobered  and  quieted  by  Mr.  Maitland's  manner,  "but  my 
mind  is  quite  made  up.  I " 

"Come  in,"  said  Mr.  Maitland,  in  a  voice  of  quiet  com- 
mand, throwing  open  his  office  door.  "I  wish  to  speak 
to  you." 

"Oh,  certainly,  sir,"  answered  Tony,  pulling  himself 
together  with  an  all  too  obvious  effort. 

In  half  an  hour  Tony  came  forth,  a  sober  and  subdued 
man. 

"Good-bye,  Wickes,"  he  said,  "I'm  off." 

"Where  are  you  going,  Tony?"  enquired  Wickes, 
startled  at  the  look  on  Tony's  face. 

[97] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


"To  hell,"  he  snapped,  "where  such  fools  as  me  be- 
long," and,  jamming  his  hat  hard  down  on  his  head,  he 
went  forth. 

In  another  minute  Mr.  Maitland  appeared  at  the  office 
door. 

"Wickes,"  he  said  sharply,  "put  on  your  hat  and  get 
Jack  for  me.  Bring  him,  no  matter  what  he's  at.  That 
young  fool  who  has  just  gone  out  must  be  looked  after. 
The  boot-leggers  have  been  taking  him  in  tow.  If  I  had 
only  known  sooner.  Did  you  know,  Wickes,  how  he  has 
been  going  on?  Why  didn't  you  report  to  me?" 

"I  hesitated  to  do  that,  sir,"  putting  his  desk  in  order. 
"I  always  expected  as  how  he  would  pull  up.  It's  his 
company,  sir.  He  is  not  so  much  to  blame." 

"Well,  he  would  not  take  anything  I  had  to  offer.  He 
is  wild  to  get  away.  And  unfortunately  he  has  some 
money  with  him,  too.  But  get  Jack  for  me.  He  can 
handle  him  if  anybody  can." 

Sorely  perplexed  Mr.  Maitland  returned  to  his  office. 
His  business  sense  pointed  the  line  of  action  with  sun- 
light clearness.  His  sense  of  justice  to  the  business  for 
which  he  was  responsible  as  well  as  to  the  men  in  his 
employ  no  less  clearly  indicated  the  action  demanded. 
His  sane  judgment  concurred  in  the  demand  of  his  men 
for  the  dismissal  of  his  foreman.  Dismissal  had  been 
rendered  unnecessary  by  Tony's  unshakable  resolve  to 
resign  his  position  which  he  declared  he  loathed  and 
which  he  should  never  have  accepted.  His  perplexity 
arose  from  the  confusion  within  himself.  What  should 
he  do  with  Tony?  He  had  no  position  in  his  works  or  in 
the  office  for  which  he  was  fit.  None  knew  this  better 
than  Tony  himself. 

"It's  a  joke,  Mr.  Maitland,"  he  had  declared,  "a  ghastly 
joke.  Everybody  knows  it's  a  joke,  that  I  should  be  in 

[98] 


THE  FOREMAN 


command  of  any  man  when  I  can't  command  myself. 
Besides,  I  can't  stick  it."  In  this  resolve  he  had  per- 
sisted in  spite  of  Mr.  Maitland's  entreaties  that  he  should 
give  the  thing  another  try,  promising  him  all  possible 
guidance  and  backing.  But  entreaties  and  offers  of  as- 
sistance had  been  in  vain.  Tony  was  wild  to  get  away 
from  the  mill.  He  hated  the  grind.  He  wanted  his 
freedom.  Vainly  Mr.  Maitland  had  offered  to  find  an- 
other position  for  him  somewhere,  somehow. 

"We'll  find  a  place  in  the  office  for  you,"  he  had 
pleaded.  "I  want  to  see  you  get  on,  Tony.  I  want  to  see 
you  make  good." 

But  Tony  was  beyond  all  persuasion. 

"It  isn't  in  me,"  he  had  declared.  "Not  if  you  gave 
me  the  whole  works  could  I  stick  it." 

"Take  a  few  days  to  think  it  over,"  Mr.  Maitland  had 
pleaded. 

"I  know  myself — only  too  well.  Ask  Jack,  he  knows," 
was  Tony's  bitter  answer.  "And  that's  final." 

"No,  Tony,  it  is  not  final,"  had  been  Mr.  Maitland's 
last  word,  as  Tony  had  left  him. 

But  after  the  young  man  had  left  him  there  still  re- 
mained the  unsolved  question,  What  was  he  to  do  with 
Tony?  In  Mr.  Maitland's  heart  was  the  firm  resolve 
that  he  would  not  allow  Tony  to  go  his  own  way.  The 
letter  in  the  desk  at  his  hand  forbade  that. 

At  his  wits'  end  he  had  sent  for  Jack.  Jack  had  made 
a  football  half-back  and  a  hockey  forward  out  of  Tony 
when  everyone  else  had  failed.  If  anyone  could  divert 
him  from  that  desperate  downward  course  to  which  he 
seemed  headlong  bent,  it  was  Jack. 

In  a  few  minutes  Wickes  returned  with  the  report  that 
on  receiving  an  account  of  what  had  happened  Jack  had 
gone  to  look  up  Tony. 

[99] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


Mr.  Maitland  drew  a  breath  of  relief. 

"Tony  is  all  right  for  to-day,"  he  said,  turning  to  his 
work  and  leaving  the  problem  for  the  meantime  to  Jack. 

In  an  hour  Jack  reported  that  he  had  been  to  the 
Perrotte  home  and  had  interviewed  Tony's  mother.  From 
her  he  had  learned  that  Tony  had  left  the  town,  barely 
catching  the  train  to  Toronto.  He  might  not  return  for 
a  week  or  ten  days.  He  could  set  no  time  for  it.  He  was 
his  own  master  as  to  time.  He  had  got  to  the  stage  where 
he  could  go  and  come  pretty  much  as  he  pleased.  The 
mother  was  not  at  all  concerned  as  to  these  goings  and 
comings  of  her  son.  He  had  an  assured  position,  all  cause 
for  anxiety  in  regard  to  him  was  at  an  end.  Tony's 
mother  was  obviously  not  a  little  uplifted  that  her  son 
should  be  of  sufficient  importance  to  be  entrusted  with 
business  in  Toronto  in  connection  with  the  mill. 

All  of  which  tended  little  toward  relieving  the  anxiety 
of  Mr.  Maitland. 

"Let  him  take  his  swing,  Dad,  for  a  bit,"  was  Jack's 
advice.  "He  will  come  back  when  he  is  ready,  and  until 
then  wild  horses  won't  bring  him  nor  hold  him.  He  is 
no  good  for  his  old  job,  and  you  have  no  other  ready 
that  he  will  stick  at.  He  has  no  Sergeant-Ma j or  now 
to  knock  him  about  and  make  him  keep  step,  more's  the 
pity." 

"Life  will  be  his  Sergeant-Major,  I  fear,"  said  his 
father,  "and  a  Sergeant-Major  that  will  exact  the  ut- 
most limit  of  obedience  or  make  him  pay  the  price.  All 
the  same,  we  won't  let  him  go.  I  can't  Jack,  anyway." 

"Oh,  Tony  will  turn  up,  never  fear,  Dad,"  said  Jack 
easily. 

With  this  assurance  his  father  had  to  content  himself. 
In  a  fortnight's  time  a  letter  came  from  Tony  to  his 
sister,  rosy  with  the  brilliance  of  the  prospects  opening 
[100] 


THE  FOREMAN 


up  before  him.  There  was  the  usual  irresponsible  in- 
definiteness  in  detail.  What  he  was  doing  and  how  he 
was  living  Tony  did  not  deign  to  indicate.  Ten  days 
later  Annette  had  another  letter.  The  former  prospects 
had  not  been  realised,  but  he  had  a  much  better  thing  in 
view,  something  more  suitable  to  him,  and  offering  larger 
possibilities  of  position  and  standing  in  the  community. 
So  much  Annette  confided  to  her  mother  who  passed  on 
the  great  news  with  elaborations  and  annotations  to  Cap- 
tain Jack.  To  Captain  Jack  himself  Annette  gave  little 
actual  information.  Indeed,  shorn  of  its  element  of 
prophecy,  there  was  little  in  Tony's  letter  that  could  be 
passed  on.  Nor  did  Annette  drop  any  hint  but  that  all 
was  quite  well  with  her  brother,  much  less  that  he  had 
suggested  a  temporary  loan  of  fifty  dollars  but  only  of 
course  if  she  could  spare  the  amount  with  perfect  con- 
venience. After  this  letter  there  was  silence  as  far  as 
Tony  was  concerned  and  for  Annette  anxiety  that  deep- 
ened into  agony  as  the  silence  remained  unbroken  with 
the  passing  weeks. 

With  the  anxiety  there  mingled  in  Annette's  heart 
anger  at  the  Maitlands,  for  she  blamed  them  for  Tony's 
dismissal  from  his  position.  This,  it  is  fair  to  say,  was 
a  reflection  from  her  mother's  wrath,  whose  mind  had 
been  filled  up  with  rumours  from  the  mills  to  the  effect 
that  her  son  had  been  "fired."  Annette  was  wise  enough 
and  knew  her  brother  well  enough  to  discredit  much  that 
rumour  brought  to  her  ears,  but  she  could  not  rid  herself 
of  the  thought  that  a  way  might  have  been  found  to  hold 
Tony  about  the  mills. 

"He  fired  the  boy,  did  the  ould  carmudgeon,"  said 
Madame  Perrotte  in  one  of  her  rages,  "and  druv  him  off 
from  the  town." 

"Nonsense,  Mother,"  Annette  had  replied,  "you  know 

[101] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


well  enough  Tony  left  of  his  own  accord.  Why  should 
you  shame  him  so?  He  went  because  he  wanted  to  go." 

This  was  a  new  light  upon  the  subject  for  her  mother. 

"Thrue  for  you,  Annette,  gurl,"  she  said,  "an'  ye  said 
it  that  time.  But  why  for  did  he  not  induce  the  bye  to 
remain?  It  would  be  little  enough  if  he  had  made  him 
the  Manager  of  the  hull  works.  That  same  would  never 
pay  back  what  he  did  for  his  son." 

"Hush,  Mother,"  said  Annette,  in  a  shocked  and  angry 
voice,  "let  no  one  hear  you  speak  like  that.  Pay  back! 
You  know,  Mother,  nothing  could  ever  pay  back  a  thing 
like  that."  The  anger  in  her  daughter's  voice  startled 
the  mother. 

"Oui!  by  gar!"  said  Perrotte,  who  had  overheard,  with 
quick  wrath.  "Dat's  foolish  talk  for  sure!  Dere's  no 
man  can  spik  lak  dat  to  me,  or  I  choke  him  on  his  fool 
t'roat,  me." 

"Right  you  are,  mon  pere!"  said  Annette  appeasing 
her  father.  "Mother  did  not  think  what  she  was  saying." 

"Dat's  no  bon,"  replied  Perrotte,  refusing  to  be  ap- 
peased. "Sacre  tonnerre!  Dat's  one — what  you  call? — 
damfool  speech.  Dat  boy  Tony  he's  carry  (h)on  hees 
back  his  friend,  le  Capitaine  Jack,  an'  le  Capitaine,  he's 
go  five  mile  for  fin'  Tony  on'  de  shell  hole  an'  fetch  heem 
to  le  docteur  and  stay  wit'  him  till  he's  fix  (h)up. 
Nom  de  Dieu!  You  pay  for  dat !  Mama !  You  mak' 
shame  for  me  on  my  heart!"  cried  the  old  Frenchman, 
beating  his  breast,  while  sobs  shook  his  voice. 


[102] 


CHAPTER  VIII 

FREE  SPEECH 

Fifty  years  ago  Blackwater  town  was  a  sawmill  village 
on  the  Biackwater  River  which  furnished  the  power  for 
the  first  little  sawmill  set  up  by  Grant  Maitland's  father. 

Down  the  river  came  the  sawlogs  in  the  early  spring 
when  the  water  was  high,  to  be  caught  and  held  by  a 
"boom"  in  a  pond  from  which  they  were  hauled  up  a 
tramway  to  the  saw.  A  quarter  of  a  mile  up  stream  a 
mill  race,  tapping  the  river,  led  the  water  to  an  "overshot 
wheel"  in  the  early  days,  later  to  a  turbine,  thus  creating 
the  power  necessary  to  drive  the  mill  machinery.  When 
the  saw  was  still  the  water  overflowed  the  "stop-logs" 
by  the  "spillway"  into  the  pond  below. 

But  that  mill  race  furnished  more  than  power  to  the 
mill.  It  furnished  besides  much  colourful  romance  to  the 
life  of  the  village  youth  of  those  early  days.  For  down 
the  mill  race  they  ran  their  racing  craft,  jostling  and 
screaming,  urging  with  long  poles  their  laggard  flotillas  to 
victory.  The  pond  by  the  mill  was  to  the  boys  "swimming 
hole"  and  fishing  pool,  where,  during  the  long  summer 
evenings  and  through  the  sunny  summer  days,  they  spent 
amphibious  hours  in  high  and  serene  content.  But  in 
springtime  when  the  pond  was  black  with  floating  logs  it 
became  the  scene  of  thrilling  deeds  of  daring.  For  thither 
came  the  lumber-jacks,  fresh  from  "the  shanties,"  in 
their  dashing,  multi-colored  garb,  to  "show  off"  before 
admiring  friends  and  sweethearts  their  skill  in  "log- 
running"  and  "log-rolling"  contests  which  as  the  spirit 

[103] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


of  venture  grew  would  end  like  as  not  in  the  icy  waters 
of  the  pond. 

Here,  too,  on  brilliant  winter  days  the  life  of  the 
village  found  its  centre  of  vivid  interest  and  activity. 
For  then  the  pond  would  be  a  black  and  glittering  surface 
whereon  wheeled  and  curved  the  ringing,  gleaming  blades 
of  "fancy"  skaters  or  whereon  in  sterner  hours  opposing 
"shinny"  teams  sought  glory  in  Homeric  and  often  gory 
contest. 

But  those  days  and  those  scenes  were  now  long  since 
gone.  The  old  mill  stood  a  picturesque  ruin,  the  water 
wheel  had  given  place  to  the  steam  engine,  the  pond  had 
shrunk  to  an  insignificant  pool  where  only  pollywogs  and 
minnows  passed  unadventurous  lives,  the  mill  race  had 
dwindled  to  a  trickling  stream  grown  thick  with  water- 
cress and  yellow  lilies,  and  what  had  once  been  the  centre 
of  vigorous  and  romantic  life  was  now  a  back  water  eddy 
devoid  alike  of  movement  and  of  colour. 

A  single  bit  of  life  remained — the  little  log  cottage, 
once  the  Manager's  house  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago, 
still  stood  away  up  among  the  pines  behind  the  old  mill 
ruin  and  remote  from  the  streets  and  homes  of  the 
present  town.  At  the  end  of  a  little  grassy  lane  it  stood, 
solid  and  square,  resisting  with  its  well  hewn  pinelogs 
the  gnawing  tooth  of  time.  Abandoned  by  the  growing 
town,  forgotten  by  the  mill  owner,  it  was  re-discovered 
by  Malcolm  McNish,  or  rather  by  his  keen  eyed  old 
mother  on  their  arrival  from  the  old  land  six  months 
ago.  For  a  song  McNish  bought  the  solid  little  cottage, 
he  might  have  had  it  as  a  gift  but  that  he  would  not, 
restored  its  roof,  cleared  out  its  stone  chimney  which, 
more  than  anything  else,  had  caught  the  mother's  eye, 
re-set  the  window  panes,  added  a  wee  cunning  porch, 
gave  its  facings  a  coat  of  paint,  enclosed  its  bit  of  flower 

[104] 


FREE  SPEECH 


garden  in  front  and  its  "kale  yaird"  in  the  rear  with  a 
rustic  paling,  and  made  it,  when  the  Summer  had  done 
its  work,  a  bonnie  homelike  spot  which  caught  the  eye 
and  held  the  heart  of  the  passer-by. 

The  interior  more  than  fulfilled  the  promise  of  the 
exterior.  The  big  living  room  with  its  great  stone  fire- 
place welcomed  you  on  opening  the  porch  door.  From 
the  living  room  on  the  right  led  two  doors,  each  giving 
entrance  to  a  tiny  bedroom  and  flanking  a  larger  room 
known  as  "the  Room." 

Within  the  living  room  were  gathered  the  household 
treasures,  the  Lares  and  Penates  of  the  little  stone  rose- 
covered  cottage  "at  hame  awa'  ayont  the  sea."  On  the 
mantel  a  solid  hewn  log  of  oak,  a  miracle  of  broad-axe 
work,  were  "bits  o'  chiny"  rarely  valuable  as  antiques 
to  the  knowing  connoisseur  but  beyond  price  to  the  old 
white-haired  lady  who  daily  dusted  them  with  reverent 
care  as  having  been  borne  by  her  mother  from  the  High- 
land home  in  the  far  north  country  when  as  a  bride  she 
came  by  the  "cadger's  cairt"  to  her  new  home  in  the 
lonely  city  of  Glasgow.  Of  that  Glasgow  home  and  of 
her  own  home  later  the  walls  of  the  log  cottage  were 
eloquent. 

The  character  giving  bit  of  furniture,  however,  in  the 
living  room  was  a  book-case  that  stood  in  a  corner.  Its 
beautiful  inlaid  cabinet  work  would  in  itself  have  at- 
tracted attention,  but  not  the  case  but  the  books  were  its 
distinction.  The  great  English  poets  were  represented 
there  in  serviceable  bindings  showing  signs  of  use,  Shake- 
speare, Wordsworth,  Coleridge,  Browning,  Keats,  and 
with  them  in  various  editions,  Burns.  Beside  the  poets 
Robert  Louis  had  a  place,  and  Sir  Walter,  as  well  as 
Kipling  and  Meredith  and  other  moderns. .  But  on  the 
shelf  that  showed  most  wear  were  to  be  found  the  stan- 

[105] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


dard  works  of  economists  of  different  schools  from  the 
great  Adam  Smith  to  Marx  and  the  lot  of  his  imitators 
and  disciples.  This  was  Malcolm's  book-case.  There 
was  in  another  corner  near  the  fire-place  a  little  table  and 
above  it  hung  a  couple  of  shelves  for  books  of  another 
sort,  the  Bible  and  The  Westminster  Confession,  Bunyan 
and  Baxter  and  Fox's  Book  of  Martyrs,  Rutherford 
and  McCheyne  and  Law,  The  Ten  Years'  Conflict, 
Spurgeon's  Sermons  and  Smith's  Isaiah,  and  a  well  worn 
copy  of  the  immortal  Robbie.  This  was  the  mother's 
corner,  a  cosy  spot  where  she  nourished  her  soul  by 
converse  with  the  great  masters  of  thought  and  of  con- 
science. 

In  this  "cosy  wee  hoosie"  Malcolmn  McNish  and  his 
mother  passed  their  quiet  evenings,  for  the  days  were 
given  to  toil,  in  talk,  not  to  say  discussion  of  the  prob- 
lems, the  rights  and  wrongs  of  the  working  man.  They 
agreed  in  much;  they  differed,  and  strongly,  in  point  of 
view.  The  mother  was  all  for  reform  of  wrongs  with 
the  existing  economic  system,  reverencing  the  great 
Adam  Smith.  The  son  was  for  a  new  deal,  a  new  system, 
the  Socialistic,  with  modifications  all  his  own.  All,  or 
almost  all,  that  Malcolm  had  read  the  mother  had  read 
with  the  exception  of  Marx.  She  "cudna  thole  yon 
godless  loon"  or  his  theories  or  his  works.  Malcolm 
had  grown  somewhat  sick  of  Marx  since  the  war.  In- 
deed, the  war  had  seriously  disturbed  the  foundations  of 
Malcolm's  economic  faith,  and  he  was  seeking  a  read- 
justment of  his  opinion  and  convictions,  which  were 
rather  at  loose  ends.  In  this  state  of  mind  he  found  little 
comfort  from  his  shrewd  old  mother. 

"Y'e  have  nae  anchor,  laddie,  and  ilka  woof  of  air  and 
ilka  turn  o'  the  tide  and  awa'  ye  go." 

As  for  her  anchor,  she  made  no  bones  of  announcing 
that  she  had  been  brought  up  on  the  Shorter  Catechism 
[106] 


FREE  SPEECH 


and  the  Confession  and  in  consequence  found  a  place  for 
every  theory  of  hers,  Social  and  Economic  as  well  as 
Ethical  and  Religious,  within  the  four  corners  of  the 
mighty  fabric  of  the  Calvinistic  system  of  Philosophy 
and  Faith. 

One  of  the  keen  joys  of  her  life  since  coming  to  the 
new  country  she  found  in  her  discussions  with  the  Rev. 
Murdo  Matheson,  whom,  after  some  considerable  hesita- 
tion, she  had  finally  chosen  to  "sit  under."  The  Rev. 
Murdo's  theology  was  a  little  narrow  for  her.  She  had 
been  trained  in  the  schools  of  the  Higher  Critics  of  the 
Free  Kirk  leaders  at  home.  She  talked  familiarly  of 
George  Adam  Smith,  whom  she  affectionately  designated 
as  "George  Adam."  She  would  wax  wrathful  over  the 
memory  of  the  treatment  meted  out  to  Robertson  Smith 
by  a  former  generation  of  Free  Kirk  heresy  hunters. 
Hence  she  regarded  with  pity  the  hesitation  with  which 
her  Minister  accepted  some  of  the  positions  of  the  Higher 
Critics.  Although  it  is  to  be  confessed  that  the  war  had 
somewhat  rudely  shattered  her  devotion  to  German 
theology. 

"What  d'ye  think  o'  yere  friend  Harnack  the  noo?" 
her  son  had  jibed  at  her  soon  after  the  appearance  of  the 
great  manifesto  from  the  German  professors. 

"What  do  A  think  o'  him?"  she  answered,  sparring 
for  time.  "What  do  A  think  o'  him?"  Then,  as  her 
eye  ran  over  her  son's  uniform,  for  he  was  on  leave  at 
the  time,  she  blazed  forth,  "A'll  tell  ye  what  A  think  o' 
him.  A  think  that  Auld  Hornie  has  his  hook  intil  him 
and  the  hale  kaboodle  o'  them.  They  hae  forsaken  God 
and  made  tae  themselves  ither  gods  and  the  Almichty 
hae  gi'en  them  ower  tae  a  reprobate  mind." 

But  her  Canadian  Minister's  economic  positions  satis- 
fied her.  He  had  specialised  in  Social  and  Economic 

[107] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


Science  in  his  University  Course  and  she  considered  him 
sound  "in  the  main." 

She  had  little  patience  with  half  baked  theorists  and 
none  at  all  with  mere  agitators.  It  was  therefore  with  no 
small  indignation  that  she  saw  on  a  Sunday  morning 
Mr.  Wigglesworth  making  his  way  up  the  lane  toward 
her  house  door. 

"The  Lord  be  guid  tae  us!"  she  exclaimed.  "What 
brings  yon  cratur  here — and  on  a  Sabbath  mornin'? 
Mind  you,  Malcolm,"  she  continued  in  a  voice  of  sharp 
decision,  "A'll  hae  nane  o'  his  'rights  o'  British  citizens' 
clack  the  morn." 

"Who  is  it,  Mother?"  enquired  her  son,  coming  from 
his  room  to  look  out  through  the  window.  "Oh,  dinna 
fash  ye're  heid  ower  yon  windbag,"  he  added,  dropping 
into  his  broadest  Doric  and  patting  his  mother  on  the 
shoulder. 

"He  disna  fash  me,"  said  his  mother.  "Nae  fears. 
But  A'll  no  pairmit  him  to  brak  the  Sabbath  in  this  hoose, 
A  can  tell  ye."  None  the  less  she  opened  the  door  to  Mr. 
Wigglesworth  with  dignified  courtesy. 

"Guid  mornin',  Mr.  Wigglesworth,"  she  said  cordially. 
"Ye're  airly  on  yere  way  tae  the  Kirk." 

"Yes — that  is — yes,"  replied  Mr.  Wigglesworth  in 
some  confusion,  "I  am  a  bit  (h) early.  Fact  is,  I  was 
(h) anxious  to  catch  Malcolm  before  'e  went  aht.  I 
'ave  a  rather  (h) important  business  on  'and  with  'im, 
very  (h) important  business,  I  might  say." 

'  'Business,'  did  ye  say,  Mr.  Wigglesworth?"  Mrs. 
McNish  stood  facing  him  at  the  door.  "Business !  On 
the  Lord's  Day?" 

Mr.  Wigglesworth  gaped  at  her,  hat  in  hand. 

"Well,  Mrs.  McNish,  not  (h) exactly  business.     That 
is,"  he  said  with  an  apologetic  smile,  "(h)it  depends,  you 
[108] 


FREE  SPEECH 


see,  just  w'at  yeh  puts  (h)into  a  word,  Mrs.  McNish." 

Mr.  Wigglesworth's  head  went  over  to  one  side  as  if 
in  contemplation  of  a  new  and  striking  idea. 

"A  pit  nae  meaning  into  a  word  that's  no  in  it  on  its 
ain  accoont,"  she  replied  with  uncompromising  grimness. 
"Business  is  just  business,  an'  my  son  diz  nae  business  on 
the  Lord's  Day." 

There  was  no  place  for  casuistry  in  the  old  Scotch 
lady's  mind.  A  thing  was  or  was  not,  and  there  was  an 
end  to  that. 

"Certainly,  Mrs.  McNish,  certainly!  And  so  sez  I. 
But  there  might  be  a  slight  difference  of  (h) opinion  be- 
tween you  and  I,  so  to  speak,  as  to  just  w'at  may  con- 
stitute 'business.'  Now,  for  (h) instance "  Mr. 

Wigglesworth  was  warming  to  his  subject,  but  the  old 
lady  standing  on  her  doorstep  fixed  her  keen  blue  eyes 
upon  him  and  ruthlessly  swept  away  all  argumentation 
on  the  matter. 

"If  it  is  a  matter  consistent  with  the  Lord's  Day,  come 
in;  it  not,  stay  oot." 

"Oh !  Yes,  thank  you.  By  the  way,  is  your  son  in,  by 
(h)any  chance?  Per' raps  'e's  shavin'  'isself,  eh?"  Mr. 
Wigglesworth  indulged  in  a  nervous  giggle. 

"Shavin'  himsel!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  McNish.  "On  the 
Sawbath !  Man,  d'ye  think  he's  a  heathen,  then  ?"  Mrs. 
McNish  regarded  the  man  before  her  with  severity. 

"An  'eathen?  Not  me!  I  should  consider  it  an 
'eathenish  practice  to  go  dirty  of  a  Sunday,"  said  Mr. 
Wigglesworth  triumphantly. 

"Hoots,  man,  wha's  talkin'  about  gaein'  dirty?  Can 
ye  no  mak  due  preparation  on  the  Saturday?  What  is 
yere  Saturday  for?" 

This  was  a  new  view  to  Mr.  Wigglesworth  and  rather 
abashed  him. 

[109] 


"What  is  it,  Mother?"  Malcolm's  voice  indicated  a 
desire  to  appease  the  wrath  that  gleamed  in  his  mother's 
eye.  "Oh,  it  is  Mr.  Wigglesworth.  Yes,  yes!  I  want 
to  see  Mr.  Wigglesworth.  Will  you  come  in,  Mr.  Wig- 
glesworth ?" 

"Malcolm,  A  was  jist  tellin'  Mr.  Wigglesworth " 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know,  Mother,  but  I  want " 


"Malcolm,  ye  ken  what  day  it  is.  And  A  wull  not " 

"Yes,  Mother,  A  ken  weel,  but " 

"And  ye  ken  ye'll  be  settin'  oot  for  the  Kirk  in  half 
an  oor " 

"Half  an  hour,  Mother?  Why,  it  is  only  half  past 
nine " 

"A  ken  weel  what  it  is.  But  A  dinna  like  tae  be  fashed 
and  flustered  in  ma  mind  on  ma  way  till  the  Hoose  o' 
God." 

"I  shall  only  require  a  very  few  moments,  Madam," 
said  Mr.  Wigglesworth.  "The  matter  with  w'ich  I  am 
(h) entrusted  need  not  take  more  than  a  minute  or  two. 
In  fact,  I  simply  want  to  (h) announce  a  special,  a  very 
special  meetin'  of  the  Union  this  (h) afternoon." 

"A  releegious  meetin',  Mr.  Wigglesworth?"  enquired 
Mrs.  McNish. 

"Well — not  exactly — that  is — I  don't  know  but  you 
might  call  it  a  religious  meetin'.  To  my  mind,  Mrs. 
McNish,  you  know " 

But  Mrs.  McNish  would  have  no  sophistry. 

"Mr.  Wigglesworth/'  she  began  sternly. 

But  Malcolm  cut  in. 

"Now,  Mother,  I  suppose  it's  a  regular  enough  meet- 
ing. Just  wait  till  I  get  my  hat,  Mr.  Wigglesworth. 
I'll  be  with  you." 

His  mother  followed  him  into  the  house,  leaving  Mr. 
Wigglesworth  at  the  door. 
[no] 


FREE  SPEECH 


"Malcolm,"  she  began  with  solemn  emphasis. 

"Now,  now,  Mother,  surely  you  know  me  well  enough 
by  this  time  to  trust  my  judgment  in  a  matter  of  this 
kind,"  said  her  son,  hurriedly  searching  for  his  hat. 

"Ay,  but  A'm  no  sae  sure  o'  yon  buddie " 

"Hoot,  toot,"  said  her  son,  passing  out.  "A'll  be  back 
in  abundant  time  for  the  Kirk,  Mither.  Never  you  fear." 

"Weel,  weel,  laddie,  remember  what  day  it  is.  Ye  ken 
weel  it's  no  day  for  warldly  amusement." 

"Ay,  Mither,"  replied  her  son,  smiling  a  little  at  the 
associating  of  Mr.  Wigglesworth  with  amusement  of 
any  sort  on  any  day. 

In  abundance  of  time  Malcolm  was  ready  to  allow  a 
quiet,  unhurried  walk  with  his  mother  which  would  bring 
them  to  the  church  a  full  quarter  of  an  hour  before  the 
hour  of  service. 

It  happened  that  the  Rev.  Murdo  was  on  a  congenial 
theme  and  in  specially  good  form  that  morning. 

"How  much  better  is  a  man  than  a  sheep,"  was  his 
text,  from  which  with  great  ingenuity  and  eloquence  he 
proceeded  to  develop  the  theme  of  the  supreme  value  of 
the  human  factor  in  modern  life,  social  and  industrial. 
With  great  cogency  he  pressed  the  argument  against  the 
inhuman  and  degrading  view  that  would  make  man  a 
mere  factor  in  the  complex  problem  of  Industrial 
Finance,  a  mere  inanimate  cog  in  the  Industrial  Machine. 

"What  did  you  think  of  the  sermon,  Mother?"  asked 
Malcolm  as  they  entered  the  quiet  lane  leading  home. 

"No  sae  bad,  laddie,  no  sae  bad.  Yon's  an  able  laddie, 
especially  on  practical  themes.  Ay,  it  was  no  that  bad," 
replied  his  mother  with  cautious  approval. 

"What  about  his  view  of  the  Sabbath?" 

"What  about  it?  Wad  ye  no  lift  a  sheep  oot  o'  the 
muck  on  the  Sawbath?" 

[in] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


"A  would,  of  course,"  replied  Malcolm. 

"Weel,  what?" 

"A  was  jist  thinkin'  o'  Mr.  Wiggles  worth  this  morn- 
ing." 

"Yon  man!" 

"You  were  rather  hard  on  him  this  morning',  eh, 
Mither?" 

"Hard  on  him?  He's  no  a  sheep,  nor  in  some  ways 
as  guid's  a  sheep,  A  grant  ye  that,  but  such  as  he  is  was 
it  no  ma  duty  to  pull  him  oot  o'  the  mire  o'  Sawbath 
desecration  and  general  ungodliness?" 

"Aw,  Mither,  Mither!  Ye're  incorrigible!  Ye  ought 
to  come  to  the  meeting  this  afternoon  and  give  them  all 
a  lug  out." 

"A  wull  that  then,"  said  his  mother  heartily.  "They 
need  it,  A  doot." 

"Hoots!  Nonsense,  Mither!"  said  her  son  hastily, 
knowing  well  how  thoroughly  capable  she  was  of  not 
only  going  to  a  meeting  of  Union  workers  but  also  of 
speaking  her  mind  if  in  her  judgment  they  were  guilty 
of  transgressing  the  Sabbath  law.  "The  meeting  will 
be  just  as  religious  as  Mr.  Matheson's  anyway." 

"A'm  no  sae  sure,"  said  his  mother  grimly. 

Whether  religious  in  the  sense  understood  by  Mrs. 
McNish,  the  meeting  was  not  wanting  in  ethical  interest 
or  human  passion.  It  was  a  gathering  of  the  workers  in 
the  various  industries  in  the  town,  Trade  Unionists  most 
of  them,  but  with  a  considerable  number  who  had  never 
owed  allegiance  to  any  Union  and  a  number  of  dis- 
gruntled ex-Unionists.  These  latter  were  very  vociferous 
and  for  the  most  part  glib  talkers,  with  passions  that 
under  the  slightest  pressure  spurted  foaming  to  the  sur- 
face. Returned  soldiers  there  were  who  had  taken  on 
their  old  jobs  but  who  had  not  yet  settled  down  into  the 

[112] 


FREE  SPEECH 


colourless  routine  of  mill  and  factory  work  under  the 
discipline  of  those  who  often  knew  little  of  the  essentials 
of  discipline  as  these  men  knew  them.  A  group  of 
French-Canadian  factory  hands,  taken  on  none  too  will- 
ingly in  the  stress  of  war  work,  constituted  an  element 
of  friction,  for  the  soldiers  despised  and  hated  them. 
With  these  there  mingled  new  immigrants  from  the  ship- 
yards and  factories  of  the  Old  Land,  all  members  or 
ex-members  of  Trade  Unions,  Socialists  in  training  and 
doctrine,  familiar  with  the  terminology  and  jargon  of 
those  Socialistic  debating  schools,  the  Local  Unions  of 
England  and  Scotland,  alert,  keen,  ready  of  wit  and 
ready  of  tongue,  rejoicing  in  wordy,  passionate  debate, 
ready  for  anything,  fearing  nothing. 

The  occasion  of  the  meeting  was  the  presence  of  a 
great  International  Official  of  the  American  Federation 
of  Labour,  and  its  purpose  to  strengthen  International 
Unionism  against  the  undermining  of  guerilla  bands  of 
non-Unionists  and  very  especially  against  the  new  organ- 
izations emanating  from  the  far  West,  the  One  Big 
Union. 

At  the  door  of  the  hall  stood  Mr.  Wigglesworth,  im- 
portant, fussy  and  unctuously  impressjve,  welcoming, 
directing,  introducing  and,  incidentally  but  quite  ineffec- 
tively, seeking  to  inspire  with  respect  for  his  august 
person  a  nondescript  crowd  of  small  boys  vainly  seeking 
entrance.  With  an  effusiveness  amounting  to  reverence 
he  welcomed  McNish  and  directed  him  in  a  mysterious 
whisper  toward  a  seat  on  the  platform,  which,  however, 
McNish  declined,  choosing  a  seat  at  the  side  about  half 
way  up  the  aisle. 

A  local  Union  official  was  addressing  the  meeting  but 
saying  nothing  in  particular,  and  simply  filling  in  till  the 
main  speaker  should  arrive.  McNish,  quite  uninterested 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


in  the  platform,  was  quietly  taking  note  of  the  audience, 
with  many  of  whom  he  had  made  a  slight  acquaintance. 
As  his  eye  travelled  slowly  from  face  to  face  it  was 
suddenly  arrested.  There  beside  her  father  was  Annette 
Perrotte,  who  greeted  him  with  a  bright  nod  and  smile. 
They  had  long  ago  made  up  their  tiff.  Then  McNish  had 
another  surprise.  At  the  door  of  the  hall  appeared  Cap- 
tain Jack  Maitland  who,  after  coolly  surveying  the  room, 
sauntered  down  the  aisle  and  took  a  seat  at  his  side.  He 
nodded  to  McNish. 

"Quite  a  crowd,  McNish,"  he  said.  "I  hear  the  Ameri- 
can Johnnie  is  quite  a  spouter  so  I  came  along  to  hear." 

McNish  looked  at  him  and  silently  nodded.  He  could 
not  understand  his  presence  at  that  kind  of  a  meeting. 

"You  know  I  am  a  Union  man  now,"  said  Captain 
Jack,  accurately  reading  his  silence.  "Joined  a  couple 
of  months  ago." 

But  McNish  kept  his  face  gravely  non-committal, 
wondering  how  it  was  that  this  important  bit  of  news 
had  not  reached  him.  Then  he  remembered  that  he  had 
not  attended  the  last  two  monthly  meetings  of  his  Union, 
and  also  he  knew  that  little  gossip  of  the  shops  came  his 
way.  None  the  less,  he  was  intensely  interested  in  Mait- 
land's  appearance.  He  did  Captain  Jack  the  justice  to 
acquit  him  of  anything  but  the  most  honourable  inten- 
tions, yet  he  could  not  make  clear  to  his  mind  what  end 
the  son  of  his  boss  could  serve  by  joining  a  Labour  Union. 
He  finally  came  to  the  conclusion  that  this  was  but  an- 
other instance  of  an  "Intellectual"  studying  the  social 
and  economic  side  of  Industry  from  first-hand  observa- 
tion. It  was  a  common  enough  thing  in  the  Old  Land. 
He  was  conscious  of  a  little  contempt  for  this  dilettante 
sort  of  Labour  Unionism,  and  he  was  further  conscious 
of  a  feeling  of  impatience  and  embarrassment  at  Captain 
[H4] 


FREE  SPEECH 


Jack's  presence.  He  belonged  to  the  enemy  camp,  and 
what  right  had  he  there  ?  From  looks  cast  in  their  direc- 
tion it  was  plain  that  others  were  asking  the  same  ques- 
tion. His  thought  received  a  sudden  and  unexpected 
exposition  from  the  platform  from  no  less  a  person  than 
Mr.  Wigglesworth  himself  to  whom  as  one  of  the  oldest 
officials  in  Unionised  Labour  in  the  town  had  been  given 
the  honour  of  introducing  the  distinguished  visitor  and 
delegate. 

In  flowing  periods  and  with  a  reckless  but  wholly  un- 
authorised employment  of  aspirates  he  "welcomed  the 
(h) audience,  (h) especially  the  ladies,  and  other  citizens 
among  'oom  'e  was  delighted  to  (h) observe  a  representa- 
tive of  the  (h)  employ  ing  class  'oo  was  for  the  present 
'e  believed  one  of  themselves."  To  his  annoyed  em- 
barrassment Captain  Jack  found  himself  the  observed 
of  many  eyes,  friendly  and  otherwise.  "But  'e  would 
assure  Captain  Maitland  that  although  'e  might  feel  as 
if  'e  'ad  no  right  to  be  'ere " 

"  'Ere !  'Ere !"  came  a  piercing  voice  in  unmistakable 
approval,  galvanising  the  audience  out  of  its  apathy  into 
instant  emotional  intensity. 

"(H)I  want  most  (h) emphatically  to  (h) assure  Cap- 
tain Maitland,"  continued  Mr.  Wigglesworth,  frowning 
heavily  upon  the  interrupter,  "that  'e  is  as  welcome " 

"No!  No!"  cried  the  same  Cockney  voice,  followed 
by  a  slight  rumbling  applause. 

"I  say  'e  is,"  shouted  Mr.  Wigglesworth,  supported 
by  hesitating  applause. 

"No!  No!  We  don't  want  no  toffs  'ere."  This  was 
followed  by  more  definite  applause  from  the  group  im- 
mediately surrounding  the  speaker. 

Mr.  Wigglesworth  was  much  affronted  and  proceeded 
to  administer  a  rebuke  to  the  interrupter. 

[US] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


"I  (h)am  surprised,"  he  began,  with  grieved  and 
solemn  emphasis. 

"Mr.  Chairman,"  said  the  owner  of  the  Cockney  voice, 
rising  to  his  feet  and  revealing  himself  a  small  man  with 
large  head  and  thin  wizened  features,  "Mr.  Chairman, 
I  rise  to  protest  right  'ere  an'  naow  against  the  presence 
of  (h)any  representative  of  the  (h)enemy  class  at " 

"Aw,  shut  up !"  yelled  a  soldier,  rising  from  his  place. 
"Throw  out  the  little  rat !" 

Immediately  there  was  uproar.  On  every  side  returned 
soldiers,  many  of  whom  had  been  in  Captain  Jack's  bat- 
talion, sprang  up  and  began  moving  toward  the  little 
Cockney  who,  boldly  standing  his  ground,  was  wildly 
appealing  to  the  chair  and  was  supported  by  the  furious 
cheering  of  a  group  of  his  friends,  Old  Country  men 
most  of  whom,  as  it  turned  out,  were  of  the  extreme 
Socialist  type.  By  this  time  it  had  fully  been  borne  in 
upon  Captain  Jack's  mind,  somewhat  dazed  by  the  un- 
expected attack,  that  he  was  the  occasion  of  the  uproar. 
Rising  from  his  place  he  tried  vainly  to  catch  the  Chair- 
man's attention. 

"Come  up  to  the  platform,"  said  a  voice  in  his  ear. 
He  turned  and  saw  McNish  shouldering  his  way  through 
the  excited  crowd  toward  the  front.  After  a  moment's 
hesitation  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  followed.  The 
move  caught  the  eye  and  apparently  the  approval  of  the 
audience,  for  it  broke  into  cheers  which  gathered  in 
volume  till  by  the  time  that  McNish  and  Captain  Jack 
stood  on  the  platform  the  great  majority  were  wildly 
yelling  their  enthusiastic  approval  of  their  action.  Mc- 
Nish stood  with  his  hand  raised  for  a  hearing.  Almost 
instantly  there  fell  a  silence  intense  and  expectant.  The 
Scotchman  stood  looking  in  the  direction  of  the  excited 
Cockney  with  cold  steady  eye. 
[116] 


FREE  SPEECH 


"A'm  for  freedom!  The  right  of  public  assembly! 
A'm  feart  o'  nae  enemy,  not  the  deevil  himself.  This 
gentleman  is  a  member  of  my  Union  and  he  stays 
r-r-right  he-e-r-re."  With  a  rasping  roll  of  his  r's  he 
seemed  to  be  ripping  the  skin  off  the  little  Cockney's 
very  flesh.  The  response  was  a  yell  of  savage  cheers 
which  seemed  to  rock  the  building  and  which  continued 
while  Mr.  Wigglesworth  in  overflowing  effusiveness  first 
shook  Maitland's  limp  hand  in  a  violent  double-handed 
pump  handle  exercise  and  then  proceeded  to  introduce 
him  to  the  distinguished  visitor,  shouting  his  name  in 
Maitland's  ear,  "Mr  'Oward  (H)E.  Bigelow,"  adding 
with  a  sudden  inspiration,  (H) Introduce  'im  to  the 
(h)audience.  Yes!  Yes!  Most  (h) assuredly,"  and 
continued  pushing  both  men  toward  the  front  of  the 
platform,  the  demonstration  increasing  in  violence. 

"I  say,  old  chap,"  shouted  Captain  Jack  in  the  stran- 
ger's ear,  "I  feel  like  a  fool." 

"I  feel  like  a  dozen  of  'em,"  shouted  Mr.  Bigelow  in 
return.  "But,"  he  added  with  a  slow  wink,  "this  old 
fool  is  the  daddy  of  'em  all.  Go  on,  introduce  me,  or 
they'll  bust  something  loose." 

Captain  Jack  took  one  step  to  the  front  of  the  plat- 
form and  held  up  his  hand.  The  cheering  assumed  an 
even  greater  violence,  then  ceased  in  sudden  breathless 
silence. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  said  in  a  slightly  bored 
voice,  "this  gentleman  is  Mr.  Howard  E.  Bigelow,  a  rep- 
resentative of  the  American  Federation  of  Labour,  whom 
as  a  member  of  the  Woodworkers'  Union,  Local  197,  I 
am  anxious  to  hear  if  you  don't  mind." 

He  bowed  to  the  visitor,  bowed  to  the  audience  once 
more  swaying  under  a  tempest  of  cheers,  and,  followed 
by  McNish,  made  his  way  to  his  seat. 

[117] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


From  the  first  moment  of  his  speech  Mr.  Howard  E. 
Bigelow  had  to  fight  for  a  hearing.  The  little  Cockney 
was  the  centre  of  a  well-organised  and  thoroughly  com- 
petent body  of  obstructers  who  by  clever  "heckling,"  by 
points  of  order,  by  insistent  questioning,  by  playing  now 
upon  the  anti-American  string,  now  upon  the  anti-Fed- 
eration string,  by  ribald  laughter,  by  cheering  a  happy 
criticism,  completely  checked  every  attempt  of  the  speaker 
to  take  flight  in  his  oratory.  The  International  official 
was  evidently  an  old  hai^d  in  this  sort  of  game,  but  in 
the  hands  of  these  past  masters  in  the  art  of  obstruction 
he  met  more  than  his  match.  Maitland  was  amazed  at 
his  patience,  his  self-control,  his  adroitness,  but  they  were 
all  in  vain.  At  last  he  was  forced  to  appeal  to  the  Chair- 
man for  British  fair  play.  But  the  Chairman  was  help- 
lessly futile  and  his  futility  was  only  emphasised  by  Mr. 
Wiggles  worth's  attempts  now  at  browbeating  which  were 
met  with  derision  and  again  at  entreaty  which  brought 
only  demands  for  ruling  on  points  of  order,  till  the  meet- 
ing was  on  the  point  of  breaking  up  in  confused  disorder. 

"McNish,  I  think  I'll  take  a  hand  in  this,"  said  Cap- 
tain Jack  in  the  Scotchman's  ear.  "Are  you  game  ?" 

"Wait  a  wee,"  said  McNish,  getting  to  his  feet. 
Slowly  he  once  more  made  his  way  to  the  platform.  As 
the  crowd  caught  on  to  his  purpose  they  broke  into 
cheering.  When  he  reached  the  side  of  the  speaker  he 
spoke  a  word  in  his  ear,  then  came  to  the  front  with  his 
hand  held  up.  There  was  instant  quiet.  He  looked 
coolly  over  the  excited,  disintegrating  audience  for  a 
moment  or  two. 

"A  belonged  tae  the  Feefty-fir-rst  Diveesion,"  he  said 

in  his  richest  Doric.     "We  had  a  rare  time  wi'  bullies 

over  there.     A'm  for  free  speech!     Noo,  listen  tae  me, 

you  Cockney  wheedle  doodle.     Let  another  cheep  out 

[118] 


FREE  SPEECH 


o'  yere  trap  an'  the  Captain  there  will  fling  ye  oot  o'  this 
room  as  we  did  the  Kayser  oot  o'  France." 

"You  said  it,  McNish,"  said  Maitland,  leaping  to  the 
aisle.  With  a  roar  a  dozen  returned  men  were  on  their 
feet. 

"Steady,  squad !"  rang  out  Captain  Jack's  order.  "Fall 
into  this  aisle !  Shun !"  As  if  on  parade  the  soldiers  fell 
into  line  behind  their  captain. 

"Macnamara!"  he  said,  pointing  to  a  huge  Irishman. 

"Sir!"  said  Macnamara. 

"You  see  that  little  rat- faced  chap?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Take  your  place  beside  him." 

With  two  steps  Macnamara  was  beside  his  man. 

"Mr.  Chairman,  I  protest,"  began  the  little  Cockney 
fiercely. 

"Pass  him  up,"  said  the  Captain  sharply. 

With  one  single  motion  Macnamara's  hand  swept  the 
little  man  out  of  his  place  into  the  aisle. 

"Chuck  him  out !"  said  Captain  Jack  quietly. 

From  hand  to  hand,  with  never  a  pause,  amid  the  jeers 
and  laughter  of  the  crowd  the  little  man  was  passed  along 
like  a  bundle  of  old  rags  till  he  disappeared  through  the 
open  door. 

"Who's  next?"  shouted  Macnamara  joyfully. 

"As  you  were!"  came  the  sharp  command. 

At  once  Macnamara  stood  at  attention. 

Captain  Jack  nodded  to  the  platform. 

"All  right,"  he  said  quietly. 

Mr.  Howard  E.  Bigelow  finished  his  speech  in  peace. 
He  made  appeal  for  the  closing  up  of  the  ranks  of  Labour 
in  preparation  for  the  big  fight  which  was  rapidly  com- 
ing. They  had  just  finished  with  Kaiserism  in  Europe 
but  they  were  faced  with  only  another  form  of  the  same 

["9] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


spirit  in  their  own  land.  They  wanted  no  more  fighting, 
God  knew  they  had  had  enough  of  that,  but  there  were 
some  things  dearer  than  peace,  and  Labour  was  resolved 
to  get  and  to  hold  those  things  which  they  had  fought 
for,  "which  you  British  and  especially  you  Canadians 
shed  so  much  blood  to  win.  We  are  making  no  threats, 
but  we  are  not  going  to  stand  for  tyranny  at  the  hands  of 
any  man  or  any  class  of  men  in  this  country.  Only  one 
thing  will  defeat  us,  not  the  traditional  enemies  of  our 
class  but  disunion  in  our  own  ranks  due  to  the  fool  tactics 
of  a  lot  of  disgruntled  and  discredited  traitors  like  the 
man  who  has  just  been  fired  from  this  meeting."  He 
asked  for  a  committee  which  would  take  the  whole  situa- 
tion in  hand.  He  closed  with  a  promise  that  in  any 
struggle  which  they  undertook  under  the  guidance  of 
their  International  Officers  the  American  Federation  of 
Labour  to  their  last  dollar  would  be  behind  them. 

Before  the  formal  closing  of  the  meeting  Maitland 
slipped  quietly  put.  As  he  reached  the  sidewalk  a  light 
hand  touched  his  arm.  Turning  he  saw  at  his  elbow 
Annette,  her  face  aglow  and  her  black  eyes  ablaze  with 
passionate  admiration. 

"Oh,  Captain  Jack,"  she  panted,  her  hands  out- 
stretched, "you  were  just  wonderful!  Splendid!  Oh! 
I  don't  know  what  to  say !  I "  She  paused  in  sud- 
den confusion.  A  hot  colour  flamed  in  her  face.  Maitland 
took  her  hands  in  his. 

"Hello,  Annette !  I  saw  you  there.  Why !  What's  up, 
little  girl?" 

A  sudden  rush  of  tears  had  filled  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  nothing.  I  am  just  excited,  I  guess.  I  don't 

know  what "  She  pulled  her  hands  away.  "But 

you  were  great!"  She  laughed  shrilly. 

"Oh,  it  was  your  friend  McNish  did  the  trick,"  said 
Captain  Jack.  "Very  neat  bit  of  work  that,  eh?  Very 
[120] 


FREE  SPEECH 


neat  indeed.  Awfully  clever  chap!  Are  you  going 
home  now?" 

"No,  I  am  waiting."     She  paused  shyly. 

"Oh,  I  see!"  said  Captain  Jack  with  a  smile.  "Lucky 
chap,  by  Jove !" 

"I  am  waiting  for  my  father,"  said  Annette,  tossing 
her  head. 

"Oh,  then,  if  that's  all,  come  along  with  me.  Your 
father  knows  his  way  about."  The  girl  paused  a  moment, 
hesitating.  Then  with  a  sudden  resolve  she  cried  gaily, 

"Well,  I  will.  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  it.  Oh,  I 
am  so  excited!"  She  danced  along  at  his  side  in  gay 
abandon.  As  they  turned  at  the  first  corner  Maitland 
glanced  over  his  shoulder. 

"Hello!  Here's  McNish/'  he  cried,  turning  about. 
"Shall  we  wait  for  him?" 

"Oh,  never  mind  Malcolm,"  cried  the  girl  excitedly, 

"come  along.  I  don't  want  him  just  now.  I  want " 

She  checked  herself  abruptly.  "I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

"Oh,  all  right,"  said  Captain  Jack.  "He's  gone  back 
anyway.  Come  along  Annette,  old  girl.  I  have  been 
wanting  to  see  you  for  a  long  time." 

"Well,  you  see  me,"  said  the  girl,  laughirig  up  into  his 
eyes  with  a  frank,  warm  admiration  in  hers  that  made 
Captain  Jack's  heart  quicken  a  bit  in  its  steady  beat.  He 
was  a  young  man  with  a  normal  appreciation  of  his  own 
worth.  She,  young,  beautiful,  unspoiled,  in  the  innocence 
of  her  girlish  heart  was  flinging  at  him  the  full  tribute  of 
a  warm,  generous  admiration  with  every  flash  of  her  black 
eyes  and  every  intonation  of  her  voice.  Small  wonder  if 
Captain  Jack  found  her  good  to  look  at  and  to  listen  to. 
Often  during  the  walk  home  he  kept  saying  to  him- 
self, "Jove,  that  McNish  chap  is  a  lucky  fellow!"  But 
McNish,  taking  his  lonely  way  home,  was  only  conscious 
that  the  evening  had  grown  chilly  and  grey. 

[121] 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE   DAY    BEFORE 

Business  was  suspended  for  the  day  in  Blackwater. 
That  is,  men  went  through  their  accustomed  movements, 
but  their  thoughts  were  far  apart  from  the  matters  that 
were  supposed  to  occupy  their  minds  during  the  working 
hours  of  the  day.  In  the  offices,  in  the  stores,  in  the 
shops,  on  the  streets,  in  the  schools,  in  the  homes  the  one, 
sole  topic  of  conversation,  the  one  mental  obsession  was 
The  Great  Game.  Would  the  Maitland  Mill  Hockey 
Team  pull  it  off  ?  Blackwater  was  not  a  unit  in  desiring 
victory  for  the  Maitland  Mill  team,  for  the  reason  that 
the  team's  present  position  of  proud  eminence  in  the 
hockey  world  of  Eastern  Ontario  had  been  won  by  a 
series  of  smashing  victories  over  local  and  neighbouring 
rival  teams.  They  had  first  disposed  of  that  snappy 
seven  of  lightning  lightweights,  the  local  High  School 
team,  the  champions  in  their  own  League.  They  had 
smashed  their  way  through  the  McGinnis  Foundry  Seven 
in  three  Homeric  contests.  This  victory  attracted  the 
notice  of  the  Blackwater  Black  Eagles,  the  gay  and  dash- 
ing representatives  of  Blackwater 's  most  highly  gilded 
stratum  of  society,  a  clever,  hard-fighting,  never-dying 
group  of  athletes  who,  summer  and  winter,  kept  them- 
selves in  perfect  form,  and  who  had  moved  rapidly  out 
of  obscurity  into  the  dazzling  spotlight  of  championship 
over  their  district.  For  the  sake  of  the  practice  in  it  and  in 
preparation  for  their  games  in  the  Eastern  Ontario 
Hockey  League,  they  took  on  the  Maitland  Mill  team. 

[122] 


THE  DAY  BEFORE 


It  took  the  Black  Eagles  a  full  week  to  recover  sufficient 
control  to  be  able  to  speak  intelligibly  as  to  the  "how"  and 
"why"  of  that  match.  For  the  Mill  team  with  apparent 
ease  passed  in  thirteen  goals  under  and  over  and  behind 
and  beside  the  big  broad  goal  stick  of  Bell  Blackwood, 
the  goal  wonder  of  the  League;  and  the  single  register 
for  the  Eagles  had  been  netted  by  Fatty  Findlay's  own 
stick  in  a  moment  of  aberration.  During  the  week  fol- 
lowing the  Black  Eagle  debacle  the  various  Bank  man- 
agers, Law  Office  managers  and  other  financial  magnates 
of  the  town  were  lenient  with  their  clerks.  Social  func- 
tions were  abandoned.  The  young  gentlemen  had  one 
continuous  permanent  and  unbreakable  engagement  at 
the  rink  or  in  preparation  for  it.  But  all  was  in  vain. 
The  result  of  the  second  encounter  was  defeat  for  the 
Eagles,  defeat  utter,  unmistakable  and  inexplicable  ex- 
cept on  the  theory  that  they  had  met  a  superior  team. 
Throughout  the  hockey  season  the  Maitland  Mill  main- 
tained an  unbroken  record  of  victory  till  their  fame  flew 
far;  and  at  the  close  of  the  season  enthusiasts  of  the 
game  had  arranged  a  match  between  the  winners  of  the 
Eastern  Ontario  Hockey  League,  the  renowned  Cornwall 
team  and  the  Maitland  Mill  boys.  To-day  the  Cornwalls 
were  in  town,  and  the  town  in  consequence  was  quite  unfit 
for  the  ordinary  duties  of  life.  The  Eagles  almost  to  a 
man  were  for  the  local  team;  for  they  were  sports  true 
to  type.  Not  so  however  their  friends  and  following, 
who  resented  defeat  of  their  men  at  the  hands  of  a  work- 
ing class  team. 

Of  course  it  was  Jack  Maitland  who  was  responsible 
for  their  humiliation.  It  was  he  who  had  organised  his 
fellow  workmen,  put  them  through  a  blood  and  iron 
discipline,  filled  them  with  his  own  spirit  of  irresistible 
furious  abandon  in  attack  which  carried  them  to  victory. 

[123] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


It  was  an  old  game  with  Jack  Maitland.  When  a  High 
School  boy  he  had  developed  that  spirit  of  dominating 
and  indomitable  leadership  that  had  made  his  team  the 
glory  of  the  town.  Later  by  sound  and  steady  grinding 
at  the  game  he  had  developed  a  style  and  plan  of  team 
play  which  had  produced  a  town  team  in  the  winter 
immediately  preceding  the  war  that  had  won  champion- 
ship honors.  Now  with  his  Mill  team  he  was  simply 
repeating  his  former  achievements. 

It  had  astonished  his  friends  to  learn  that  Captain 
Jack  was  playing  hockey  again.  He  had  played  no  game 
except  in  a  desultory  way  since  the  war.  He  had  resisted 
the  united  efforts  of  the  Eagles  and  their  women  friends 
to  take  the  captaincy  of  that  team.  The  mere  thought  of 
ever  appearing  on  the  ice  in  hockey  uniform  gave  him  a 
sick  feeling  at  his  heart.  Of  that  noble  seven  whom  he 
had  in  pre-war  days  led  so  often  to  victory  four  were 
still  "over  there,"  one  was  wandering  round  a  darkened 
room.  Of  the  remaining  two,  one  Rupert  Stillwell  was 
too  deeply  engrossed  in  large  financial  affairs  for  hockey. 
Captain  Jack  himself  was  the  seventh,  and  the  mere 
sight  of  a  hockey  stick  on  a  school  boy's  shoulder  gave 
him  a  heart  stab. 

It  was  his  loyal  pal  Patricia  Templeton,  who  gave  him 
the  first  impulse  toward  the  game  again.  To  her  pleading 
he  had  yielded  so  far  as  to  coach,  on  a  Saturday  after- 
noon, her  team  of  High  School  girls  to  victory.  But  it 
was  the  Reverend  Murdo  Matheson  who  furnished  the 
spur  to  conscience  that  resulted  in  the  organising  of  the 
Maitland  Mill  team. 

"You,  John  Maitland,  more  than  any  of  us  and  more 
than  all  of  us  together  can  draw  these  lads  of  yours  from 
the  pool  rooms  and  worse,"  the  Reverend  Murdo  had  said 
one  day  in  early  winter. 

[124] 


THE  DAY  BEFORE 


"Great  Scott,  Padre" — the  Reverend  Murdo  had  done 
his  bit  overseas — "what  are  you  giving  me  now  ?" 

"You,  more  than  any  or  all  of  us,  I  am  saying,"  re- 
peated the  minister  solemnly.  "For  God's  sake,  man,  get 
these  lads  on  the  ice  or  anywhere  out-of-doors  for  the 
good  of  their  immortal  souls." 

"Me!  And  why  me,  pray?"  Captain  Jack  had  asked. 
"I'm  no  uplifter.  Why  jump  on  me?" 

"You,  because  God  has  bestowed  on  you  the  gift  to 
lead  men,"  said  the  minister  with  increasing  solemnity. 
"A  high  gift  it  is,  and  one  for  which  God  will  hold  you 
responsible." 

That  very  night,  passing  by  the  Lucky  Strike  Pool 
Rooms,  Captain  Jack  had  turned  in  to  find  a  score  and 
more  of  youths — many  of  them  from  the  mills — flashing 
their  money  with  reckless  freedom  in  an  atmosphere  thick 
with  foul  tobacco-smoke  and  reeking  with  profane  and 
lewd  speech.  On  reaching  his  home  that  night  Maitland 
went  straight  to  the  attic  and  dug  up  his  hockey  kit.  Be- 
fore he  slept  he  had  laid  his  plans  for  a  league  among 
the  working  lads  in  the  various  industries  in  the  town. 

It  was  no  easy  task  to  force  these  men  into  training 
habits,  to  hold  them  to  the  grind,  to  discipline  them  into 
self-control  in  temper  and  in  desire.  It  was  of  vast 
assistance  to  him  that  three  of  his  seven  were  overseas 
men,  while  some  dozen  or  so  of  the  twenty  in  the  club 
were  returned  soldiers.  It  was  part  of  his  discipline  that 
his  team  should  never  shirk  a  day's  work  for  the  game 
except  on  the  rare  occasions  when  they  went  on  tour. 
Hence  the  management  in  the  various  mills  and  factories, 
at  first  hostile  and  suspicious,  came  to  regard  these  ath- 
letic activities  on  the  part  of  their  employees  with  ap- 
proval and  finally  came  to  give  encouragement  and  sup- 
port to  the  games. 

[125] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


To-day  was  a  half  holiday  for  the  Maitland  Mills  and 
the  streets  were  noticeably  full  of  the  men  and  their 
sweethearts  and  wives  in  their  Sunday  clothes.  Not 
the  team,  however.  Maitland  knew  better  than  that.  He 
took  his  men  for  a  run  in  the  country  before  noon,  bring- 
ing them  home  in  rich  warm  glow.  Then  after  a  bath 
and  a  hard  rubdown  they  dined  together  at  the  mill  and 
then  their  Captain  ordered  them  home  to  sleep,  forbidding 
them  the  streets  till  they  were  on  their  way  to  the  game. 

On  his  way  home  Captain  Jack  was  waylaid  by  his 
admirer  and  champion,  Patricia.  She,  standing  in  front 
of  his  car,  brought  him  to  a  halt. 

"I  have  not  even  seen  you  for  a  whole  week,"  she 
complained,  getting  in  beside  him,  "and  your  phone  is 
always  busy  in  the  evening.  Of  course  no  one  can  get 
you  during  the  day.  And  I  do  want  to  know  how  the 
team  is.  Oh !  do  tell  me  they  are  fit  for  the  game  of  their 
lives!  Are  they  every  one  fit?" 

"Fit  and  fine." 

"And  will  they  win?" 

"Sure  thing,"  said  Captain  Jack  quietly. 

"Oh,  I  hope  you  are  right.  But  you  are  so  sure,"  ex- 
claimed his  companion.  "The  Cornwalls  are  wonderful, 
Rupert  says." 

"He  would." 

"Oh!  I  forgot  you  don't  think  much  of  Rupert," 
sighed  Patricia. 

"I  haven't  time,  you  see,"  answered  Captain  Jack 
gravely. 

"Oh,  you  know  what  I  mean.  It  is  a  pity,  too,  for  he 
is  really  very  nice.  I  mean  he  is  so  good  to  me,"  sighed 
Patricia  again. 

"Don't  sigh,  Patsy,  old  girl.     It  really  isn't  worth  it, 
you  know.    How  is  the  supply  of  choc's  keeping  up?" 
[126] 


THE  DAY  BEFORE 


"Now  you  are  thinking  me  a  pig.  But  tell  me  about 
your  men.  Are  they  really  in  form?" 

"Absolutely  at  the  peak." 

"And  that  darling  Fatty  Findlay.  I  do  hope  he  will 
not  lose  his  head  and  let  a  goal  in.  He  is  perfectly  ador- 
able with  that  everlasting  smile  of  his.  I  do  hope  Fatty 
is  at  the  peak,  too.  Is  he,  really?"  The  anxiety  in 
Patricia's  tone  was  more  than  painful. 

"Dear  Patsy,  he  is  right  at  the  pinnacle." 

"Captain  Jack,  if  you  don't  win  to-night  I  shall — well, 
I  shall  just  weep  my  eyes  out." 

"That  settles  it,  Pat.  We  shall  win.  We  can't — I 
can't  spare  those  lovely  eyes,  you  know,"  said  Captain 
Jack,  smiling  at  her. 

One  by  one  Captain  Jack's  team  were  passed  in  review 
— the  defence,  Macnamara  and  "Jack"  Johnson,  so  called 
for  his  woolly  white  head;  "Reddy"  Hughes,  Ross, 
"Snoopy"  Sykes,  who  with  Captain  Jack  made  the  for- 
ward line,  all  were  declared  to  be  fit  to  deliver  the  last 
ounce  in  their  bodies,  the  last  flicker  in  their  souls. 

"Do  you  know,  Captain  Jack,"  said  Patricia  gravely, 
"there  is  one  change  you  ought  to  make  in  your  forward 
line." 

"Yes!  What  is  that,  Pat?"  asked  Captain  Jack,  with 
never  a  suggestion  of  a  smile. 

"I  would  change  Snoopy  for  Geordie  Ross.  You  know 
Geordie  is  a  little  too  careful,  and  he  is  hardly  fast 
enough  for  you.  Now  you  and  Snoopy  on  left  wing 
would  be  oh!  perfectly  wonderful." 

"Patsy,  you  are  a  wizard!"  exclaimed  Captain  Jack. 
"That  very  change  has  been  made  and  the  improvement 
is  unbelievable.  We  are  both  left-handers  and  we  pull 
off  our  little  specialties  far  more  smoothly  than  Geordie 
and  I  could.  You  have  exactly  hit  the  bull.  You  watch 

[127] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


for  that  back  of  the  goal  play  to-night.  Well,  here  we 
are.  You  have  good  seats,  I  understand." 

"Oh,  yes.  Rupert,  you  see,  as  patron  of  the  Eagles 
was  able  to  get  the  very  best.  But  won't  you  come  in 
and  see  mother?  She  is  really  quite  worked  up  over  it, 
though  of  course  she  couldn't  bear  to  go." 

Captain  Jack  checked  the  refusal  on  his  lips. 

"Yes,  I  will  go  in  for  a  few  minutes,"  he  said  gravely. 
"No!  Your  mother  would  not — could  not  come,  of 
course." 

There  flashed  before  his  mind  a  picture  from  pre-war 
days.  The  rink  packed  with  wildly  excited  throngs  and 
in  a  certain  reserved  section  midway  down  the  side  the 
Templeton-Maitland  party  with  its  distinguished  looking 
men  and  beautiful  women  following  with  eager  faces  and 
shining  eyes  the  fortunes  of  their  sons  in  the  fight  before 
them.  The  flash  of  that  picture  was  like  a  hand  of  ice 
upon  his  heart  as  Captain  Jack  entered  the  cosy  living 
room. 

"Here  he  is,  Mamma!"  cried  Patricia  as  she  ushered 
her  hero  into  the  room  with  a  sweeping  gesture.  "And 
he  brings  the  most  cheering  news.  They  are  going  to 
win!" 

"But  how  delightful !"  exclaimed  Adrien  coming  from 
the  piano  where  she  had  been  playing,  with  Rupert  Still- 
well  turning  her  music  for  her. 

"I  suppose  upon  the  best  authority,"  said  Stillwell, 
grinning  at  Patricia. 

"We  are  so  glad  you  found  time  to  run  in,"  said  Mrs. 
Templeton.  "You  must  have  a  great  deal  to  say  to  your 
team  on  the  last  afternoon." 

"I'm  glad  I  came  too,  now,"  said  Captain  Jack,  hold- 
ing the  fragile  hand  in  his  and  patting  it  gently.  "I  am 
•afraid  Patricia  is  responsible  for  my  coming  in.  I 
[128] 


THE  DAY  BEFORE 


don't  really  believe  I  could  have  ventured  on  my  own." 

A  silence  fell  on  the  company  which  none  of  them 
seemed  able  to  break.  Other  days  were  hard  upon  them. 
In  this  very  room  it  was  that  that  other  seven  were  wont 
to  meet  for  their  afternoon  tea  before  their  great  matches. 

Mrs.  Templeton,  looking  up  at  Jack,  found  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  her  and  full  of  tears.  With  a  swift  upward 
reach  of  her  arms  she  caught  him  and  drew  his  head  to 
her  breast. 

"I  know,  Jack  dear,"  she  said,  with  lips  that  quivered 
piteously.  For  a  moment  or  two  he  knelt  before  her 
while  she  held  him  in  a  close  embrace.  Then  he  gently 
kissed  her  cheek  and  rose  to  his  feet. 

"Give  him  some  tea,  Adrien,"  she  said,  making  a  gal- 
lant struggle  to  steady  her  voice,  "a  cup  of  tea — and  no 
cake.  I  remember,  you  see,"  she  added  with  a  tremulous 
smile. 

Adrien  came  back  quickly  from  the  window. 

"Yes!  a  fresh  cup!"  she  cried  eagerly,  "and  a  sand- 
wich. You,  Pat,  get  the  sandwiches.  No  cake.  We 
must  do  nothing  to  imperil  the  coming  victory." 

"You  have  a  wonderful  team,  Jack,  I  hear,"  said  her 
mother.  "Come  and  sit  here  beside  me  and  tell  me  about 
them.  Patricia  has  been  keeping  me  informed,  but  she 
is  not  very  coherent  at  times.  Of  course,  I  know  about 
your  wonderful  goal  keeper  Findlay,  is  it  not?"  And 
the  gentle  little  lady  kept  a  stream  of  conversation  going, 
for  she  saw  how  deeply  moved  Maitland  was.  It 
was  his  first  visit  to  the  Rectory  since  he  had  taken  up 
the  game  again,  and  the  rush  of  emotion  released  by  the 
vivid  memory  of  those  old  happy  days  when  that  jolly 
group  of  boys  had  filled  this  familiar  room  with  their 
noisy  clatter  wellnigh  overcame  him. 

[129] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


For  a  minute  or  two  he  fussed  with  the  tea  things  till 
he  could  master  his  voice,  then  he  said  very  quietly  : 

"They  are  very  decent  chaps — really  very  good  fellows 
and  they  have  taken  their  training  extraordinarily  well. 
Of  course,  Macnamara  and  Johnson  were  in  my  old  com- 
pany, and  that  helps  a  lot." 

"Yes,  I  remember  Macnamara  quite  well.  He  is  a  fine 
big  Irishman." 

"Fancy  you  remembering  him,  Mrs.  Templeton,"  said 
Captain  Jack. 

"Of  course,  I  remember  him.    He  is  one  of  our  boys." 

"Let's  see,  he  is  one  of  your  defence,  isn't  he?"  said 
Stillwell,  who  had  felt  himself  rather  out  of  the  con- 
versation. Maitland  nodded.  The  presence  of  Stillwell 
in  that  room  introduced  a  painful  element.  Once  he  had 
been  one  of  the  seven  and  though  never  so  intimately 
associated  with  the  Rectory  life  as  the  others,  yet  at  all 
team  gatherings  he  had  had  his  place.  But  since  the  war 
Maitland  had  never  been  able  to  endure  his  presence  in 
that  room.  To-day,  with  the  memory  of  those  old  thrill- 
ing days  pressing  hard  upon  his  heart,  he  could  not  bear 
to  look  upon  a  man,  once  one  of  them,  now  forever  an 
outsider.  The  tea  coming  in  brought  to  Maitland  relief. 

"Ah,  here  you  are,"  he  cried  anticipating  Stillwell  in 
relieving  Adrien  of  part  of  her  load.  "You  are  a  life 
saver.  Tea  is  the  thing  for  this  hour." 

"Three  lumps,  is  it  not  ?"  said  the  girl,  smiling  at  him. 
"You  see,  I  remember,  though  you  really  don't  deserve  it. 
And  here  is  Pat  with  the  sandwiches." 

"Yes!  a  whole  plate  for  yourself,  Captain  Jack,"  said 
Patricia.  "Come  and  sit  by  me  here." 

"No  indeed !"  said  her  sister  with  a  bright  glow  on  her 
cheeks.  "Jack  is  going  to  sit  right  here  by  the  tea-pot, 
and  me,"  she  added,  throwing  him  a  swift  glance. 


THE  DAY  BEFORE 


"No!  you  are  both  wrong,  children,"  said  their  mother. 
"Jack  is  coming  to  sit  beside  me.  He's  my  boy  this  after- 
noon." 

"Mother,  we  will  all  share  him,"  said  Patricia,  placing 
chairs  near  her  mother.  "I  must  talk  about  the  match, 
I  simply  must." 

A  shadow  for  a  moment  wiped  the  brightness  from 
the  face  and  eyes  of  the  elder  sister,  but  yielding  to  her 
mother's  appeal,  she  joined  the  circle,  saying  to  Maitland, 

"I  don't  believe  you  want  to  talk  about  the  match,  do 
you?  That  is  not  supposed  to  be  good  psychology  before 
a  match.  What  you  really  want  is  a  good  sleep.  Isn't 
that  right?" 

"He  has  just  sent  his  men  off  to  bed,  I  know,"  said 
Patricia,  "and  we  will  send  him  off  when  he  has  had  his 
tea." 

"I  am  so  glad  you  are  playing  again,"  said  Mrs.  Tem- 
pleton  to  Maitland  as  he  sat  down  by  her  side.  "You 
need  more  recreation  than  you  have  been  taking,  I  be- 
lieve." 

A  shadow  crossed  Maitland's  face. 

"I  don't  believe  I  need  recreation  very  much,  but  these 
chaps  of  mine  do,"  he  said  simply. 

"The  workmen,  you  mean !" 

"Yes.  They  lead  rather  a  dull  life,  you  know.  Not 
much  colour.  A  pool  room  on  the  whole  has  rather  a 
rotten  effect  upon  a  chap  who  has  been  nine  or  ten  hours 
indoors  already  and  who  sticks  at  the  same  thing  day  in 
and  day  out  for  months  at  a  time." 

"Ah,  I  see.  You  mean  you  took  up  hockey  for — ah — 
to  help " 

"Well,  I  don't  want  to  pose  as  a  workingman's  advo- 
cate and  that  sort  of  thing.  But  really  he  has  a  slow 
time." 

[131] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


"Then,  why  doesn't  he  get  busy  and  do  something  for 
himself,"  broke  in  Stillwell,  impatiently.  "The  Lord 
knows  he  is  getting  most  of  the  money  these  days  and  has 
more  spare  time  than  anyone  else  in  the  community." 

But  Maitland  ignored  him,  till  Patricia  intervened. 

"Tell  me  about  that,"  she  demanded. 

"Look  here !"  said  her  sister.  "You  are  not  going  to 
get  Jack  into  a  labour  controversy  this  afternoon.  But  I 
would  just  like  to  ask  you,  Pat,  how  keen  you'd  be  on 
organising  and  conducting  a  Literary  and  Debating  So- 
ciety after  you  had  put  in  not  five  and  a  half  hours'  lessons, 
but  eight  or  nine  hours' !  It  would  take  some  doing,  eh  ? 
But  let's  cut  out  the  labour  trouble.  It  is  nearly  time  for 
his  sleep,  isn't  it?" 

"Is  it,  Captain  Jack?  If  so,  we  won't  keep  you  a  min~ 
ute,"  said  Patricia  anxiously.  "No,  mother!  you  must  not 
keep  him.  He  must  be  on  tip-toe  to-night." 

Captain  Jack  rose.  "Patricia  would  make  an  ideal 
trainer,"  he  said.  "I  fear  I  must  really  go.  I  am  awfully 
glad  to  have  come  in  and  seen  you  all.  Somehow  I  feel  a 
whole  lot  better." 

"And  so  do  we,  Jack,"  said  the  old  lady  in  a  wistful 
voice.  "Won't  you  come  again  soon?" 

Maitland  hesitated  a  moment,  glancing  at  Adrien. 

"Oh,  do !"  said  the  girl,  with  a  little  colour  coming  into 
her  face.  "It  has  been  a  little  like  old  times  to  see  you 
this  way." 

"Yes,  hasn't  it?"  said  Stillwell.     "Awfully  jolly." 

Maitland  stiffened  and  turned  again  to  the  old  lady 
whose  eyes  were  turned  on  him  with  sad  entreaty. 

"Yes,  I  shall  come  to  see  you,"  said  Maitland,  bowing 
over  her  hand  in  farewell. 

"We  shall  expect  you  to  come  and  see  us  to-night  at 
the  match,  remember,  Captain  Jack,"  said  Patricia,  as  he 

[132] 


THE  DAY  BEFORE 


passed  out  of  the  room.  "Now  be  sure  to  go  and  have 
your  sleep." 

But  there  was  no  sleep  that  afternoon  for  Captain 
Jack.  On  his  way  through  the  town  he  was  halted  by 
McNish. 

"The  boys  want  to  see  you,"  he  said  briefly. 

"What  boys?    What  do  you  mean,  McNish?" 

"At  the  rooms.    Will  you  come  down  now  ?" 

"Now?  I  can't  come  now,  McNish.  I  have  to  be  on 
the  ice  in  three  hours  and  I  must  get  a  little  rest.  What's 
up,  anyway?  Tell  them  I'll  see  them  to-morrow." 

"No!  they  want  you  now!"  said  McNish  firmly.  "I 
would  advise  that  you  come." 

"What  do  you  mean,  McNish  ?  Well,  get  in  here  and 
I'll  go  to  see  them."  McNish  got  into  the  car.  "Now, 
what's  all  the  mystery?" 

"Better  wait,"  said  McNish,  grimly. 

"Well,  it  is  a  dog's  trick,"  said  Maitland  wrathfully, 
"to  get  on  to  a  chap  before  a  big  match  like  this." 

In  the  Union  Committee  rooms  a  group  of  men  were 
awaiting  them,  among  them  Mr.  Wigglesworth  and  the 
little  cockney  who  had  made  himself  so  obnoxious  at  the 
public  meeting. 

"What's  all  this  tomfoolery,  Wigglesworth?"  de- 
manded Captain  Jack,  striding  in  among  them. 

"(H) excuse  me,"  said  the  little  cockney.  "You  are 
a  member  of  the  Woodworkers'  Union  I  (h) under- 
stand." 

"Who  the  devil  are  you,  may  I  ask?"  said  Maitland  in 
a  rage. 

"(H) allow  me,"  said  Mr.  Wigglesworth.  "Mister 
Simmons,  Mr.  Maitland — Mr.  Simmons  is  our  new  sec- 
retary, (h) elected  last  meetin'." 

[133] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


"Well,  what  do  you  want  of  me?"  demanded  Mait- 
land.  "Don't  you  know  I  am  tied  up  this  afternoon?" 

"Tied  (h)up?"  asked  Simmons  coolly,  "  'ow?" 

"With  the  match,  confound  you." 

"Oh,  the  match!  And  w'at  match  may  that  be? 
(H)Anythin'  to  do  with  your  Union?" 

Maitland  glared  at  him,  too  dumfounded  to  speak. 

"You  see,  Mr.  Maitland,"  began  Mr.  Wigglesworth 
in  a  hurried  and  apologetic  manner. 

"  'Ere !  you  keep  aht  o'  this,"  said  Simmons  sharply, 
"this  'ere's  my  job.  I  shall  tell  Brother  Maitland  all 
that  is  necessary." 

"I  was  only  going  to  (h) explain "  began  Mr. 

Wigglesworth. 

"Naw  then!  Is  this  your  job  or  mine?  Was  you 
(h)appointed  or  was  I?  When  I  find  myself  (h)unable 
to  discharge  my  dooty  to  the  Union  I  might  per'aps  call 
on  you,  Brother  Wigglesworth;  but  until  I  find  myself 
in  that  situation  I  'ope  you  will  refrain  from  shovin'  in 
your  'orn."  Brother  Simmons'  sarcasm  appeared  to 
wither  Brother  Wigglesworth  into  silence. 

"Naw  then,  Brother  Maitland,  we  shall  get  (h)on." 

Maitland  glanced  round  on  the  group  of  half  a  dozen 
men.  Some  of  them,  he  knew;  others  were  strangers 
to  him. 

"I  don't  know  what  the  business  is,  gentlemen,"  he 
said,  curbing  his  wrath,  "but  I  want  to  know  if  it  can't 
wait  till  to-morrow?  You  know  our  boys  are  going  on 
the  ice  in  a  couple  of  hours  or  so " 

"Coin'  on  the  (h)ice!  Coin'  on  the  (h)ice!  Wat's 
that  to  do  with  Union  business?"  snarled  Simmons. 
"This  'ere's  no  silly  kids'  gaime!  It's  a  man's  work  we 
'ave  in  'and,  if  you  don't  want  to  do  the  business  to 
w'ich  you  are  (h) appointed  w'y  just  say  so  and  we 

[134] 


THE  DAY  BEFORE 


shall  know  'ow  to  (h)act.  There  'as  been  too  much  o' 
this  gaime  business  to  suit  me.  If  we  are  men  let  us 
(h)act  like  men." 

"Better  get  on  wi'  it,"  said  McNish  curtly. 

"I  shall  get  on  w'en  I  am  good  and  ready,  Brother 
McNish,"  answered  Simmons. 

"All  r-r-right,  brother,  but  A  doot  ye're  oot  o'  order. 
Who  is  the  chairman  o'  this  Committee?"  asked  McNish 
calmly. 

"Brother  Phillips,"  answered  two  or  three  voices. 

"All  right.  I  suggest  you  proceed  regularly  and  call 
the  meeting  to  order,"  said  McNish  quietly.  Simmons, 
recognising  that  it  was  Greek  meeting  Greek,  agreed  to 
this. 

Clumsily  and  hesitatingly  Brother  Phillips  began  stat- 
ing the  business  of  the  Committee.  He  had  not  gone 
far  before  Simmons  interrupted. 

"Mr.  Chairman,  with  your  permission  I  would  just  like 
to  say  that  the  resolution  passed  at  the  representative 
joint  meetin'  of  the  Maitland  Mills  and  Box  Factory 
(h) employees  last  night  will  sufficiently  (h) explain  the 
(h) object  of  this  meetin'  'ere."  Brother  Simmons'  tone 
suggested  infinite  pity  for  the  lumbering  efforts  of  the 
chairman. 

"Yes,  I  guess  it  will,"  said  the  chairman,  blushing  in 
his  confusion.  Brother  Phillips  was  new  to  his  posi- 
tion and  its  duties. 

"I  would  suggest  that  that  resolution  be  read,"  said 
Brother  Simmons,  the  pity  in  his  tone  hardly  veiling  his 
contempt. 

"Yes!  Yes!  Of  course!"  said  Brother  Phillips  hur- 
riedly. "Eh — would  you  please  read  it,  Mr. — that  is 
— Brother  Simmons?" 

With  great  show  of  deliberation  and  of  entire  mas- 

[1351 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


tery  of  the  situation  Mr.  Simmons  produced  a  Minute 
Book  and  began: 

"Mr.  Chairman  and  brothers,  I  may  say  that  this  'ere 
resolution  was  passed  at  a  joint  representative  meetin' 
of  all  the  (h) employees  of  the  Maitland  Company " 

"There  is  no  sich  company,  Mr.  Chairman,"  said  Mc- 
Nish.  "A  say  let  us  hear  the  resolution.  We'll  hear 
the  speech  afterwards  if  we  must."  It  was  again  Greek 
meeting  Greek,  and  the  little  man  turned  with  a  sar- 
castic smile  to  McNish. 

"I  suppose  Brother  McNish  is  (h) anxious  to  get 
ready  for  this  gaime  we've  bin  'earing  abaht.  I  should 
just  like  to  remind  'im  that  we  'ave  a  bigger  gaime  on 
'and,  if  'e  wants  to  get  into  it.  Personally  I  don't  'ave 
no  use  for  these  'ere  gaimes.  I  'ave  seen  the  same  kind 
of  capitalistic  dodge  to  distract  the  workin'  man's  (h) at- 
tention from  'is  real  gaime  in  life.  These  circumven- 
tions  " 

"Maister  Chair-r-man!    A  rise — — " 

"Mr.  Chairman,  I  'ave  the  floor  and  if  Brother  Mc- 
Nish knows  (h)anythink  abaht  constitootional  pro- 
ceedin's " 

"Maister  Chair-r-man — Maister-r  Chair-r-r-man !" 
Brother  McNish's  Doric  was  ominously  rasping.  "A 
rise  tae  a  pint  of  or-r-de-r-r.  And  Brother  Simmons, 
who  claims  to  be  an  expert  in  constitutional  law  and 
procedure  knows  I  have  the  floor.  Ma  pint  of  order  is 
this,  that  there  is  no  business  before  the  meeting  and  as 
apparently  only  aboot  half  the  members  are  absent " 

"And  'oo's  fault  is  that?  'E  was  to  get  them  'isself," 
shouted  Mr.  Simmons. 

"A  searched  the  toon  for  them  but  cudna  find  them, 
but  as  A  was  say  in' — as  the  secretary  has  no  business 
tae  bring  before  the  meeting  but  a  wheen  havers,  A 

[136] 


THE  DAY  BEFORE 


move  we  adjourn  tae  tomorrow  at  12  130  p.  m.  in  this 
place,  and  I  believe  that  as  Brither  Maitland  is  also  a 
member  o'  this  committee  he  will  second  the  motion." 

Maitland,  not  knowing-  in  the  least  what  the  whole 
thing  was  about,  but  seeing  a  way  out  of  the  present 
mix-up,  promptly  seconded  the  motion. 

"Mr.  Chairman!"  shouted  Simmons.  "I  am  pre- 
pared to " 

"Maister  Chair-r-man,  A  need  not  remind  you  that 
there  is  no  discussion  on  a  motion  to  adjourn." 

"That  is  quite  right,"  said  the  chairman,  in  whose 
memory  by  some  obscure  mental  process  this  fact  seemed 
to  have  found  a  lodging. 

"It  is  moved  that  this  committee  do  now  adjourn." 

"Mr.  Chairman!  I  protest,"  shrieked  Brother  Sim- 
mons frantically. 

"Ay,  he's  a  grand  protester !"  said  Brother  McNish. 

The  motion  was  carried  by  a  majority  of  one,  Broth- 
ers Wigglesworth,  McNish  and  Maitland  voting  in  the 
affirmative. 

"Traitors!"  shrieked  Brother  Simmons.  "Capitalistic 
traitors !" 

"Hoot  mon!  Ye're  no  in  Hyde  Park.  Save  yere 

breath  for  yere  porritch  the  morn "  said  McNish, 

relaxing  into  a  grim  smile  as  he  left  the  rooms. 

"We'll  get  'im,"  said  Simmons  to  his  ally  and  friend. 
"  'E's  in  with  that  there  young  pup.  'E  knows  'ow  to 
work  'im  and  Vd  sell  us  all  up,  'e  would."  Brother 
Simmons'  brand  of  profanity  strongly  savoured  of  the 
London  pavements  in  its  picturesque  fluency. 

"Get  in  here,  McNish,"  said  Maitland,  who  was  wait- 
ing at  the  door.  With  some  hesitation  McNish  accepted 
the  invitation. 

"Now,   what  does  this   mean?"   said   Maitland  sav- 

[137] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


agely,  then  checking  his  rage,  "but  I  ought  to  thank  you 
for  getting  me  out  of  the  grip  of  that  frantic  idiot. 
What  is  this  fool  thing?" 

"It's  nae  that,"  said  McNish  shortly.  "It  is  anything 
but  that.  But  I  grant  ye  this  was  no  time  to  bring  it  on. 
That  was  beyond  me.  A  doot  yon  puir  cratur  had  a 
purpose  in  it,  however.  He  disna — does  not  think  much 
of  these  games  of  yours.  But  that's  anither — another" 
— McNish  was  careful  of  his  speech — "matter." 

"But  what  in " 

"I  am  just  telling  you.  There  is  a  strong,  a  very 
strong  movement  under  way  among  the  unions  at 
present." 

"A  movement?    Strike,  do  you  mean?" 

"It  may  be,  or  worse."  McNish's  tone  was  very  grave. 
"And  as  a  good  union  man  they  expect  your  assistance." 

"Wages  again  ?" 

"Ay,  and  condeetions  and  the  like." 

"But  it  is  not  six  months  since  the  last  agreement  was 
signed  and  that  agreement  is  running  still." 

"Ay,  it  is,  but  condeetions,  conditions  have  changed 
since  that  date,"  said  McNish,  "and  there  must  be  re- 
adjustment— at  least,  there  is  a  feeling  that  way." 

"Readjustment?  But  I  have  had  no  hint  of  this  in 
our  meetings.  This  has  not  come  up  for  discussion." 

A  gentle  pity  smiled  from  the  rugged  face  of  the  man 
beside  him. 

"Hardly,"  he  said.    "It's  no  done  that  way." 

They  came  to  McNish's  door. 

"Will  you  come  in?"  he  said  courteously.  A  refusal 
was  at  Maitland's  lips  when  the  door  was  opened  by  an 
old  lady  in  a  white  frilled  cap  and  without  being  able 
to  explain  how  it  came  about  he  found  himself  in  the 

[138] 


THE  DAY  BEFORE 


quaintly  furnished  but  delightfully  cosy  living-room, 
soaking  in  the  comfort  of  a  great  blazing  fire. 

"This  is  really  solid  comfort,"  he  said,  spreading  his 
hands  to  the  glowing  pine  slabs. 

"Ay,  ye  need  it  the  day.  The  fire  cheers  the  heart," 
said  the  old  lady. 

"But  you  don't  need  it  for  that,  Mrs.  McNish,"  said 
her  visitor,  smiling  at  the  strong,  serene  face  under  the 
white  frilled  cap. 

"Do  I  not  then?  An'  what  aboot  yersel'?"  The  keen 
grey  eye  searched  his  face.  Maitland  was  immediately 
conscious  of  a  vast  dreariness  in  his  life.  He  sat  silent 
looking  into  the  blazing  fire. 

"Ay,"  continued  the  old  lady,  "but  there  are  the 
bright  spots  tae,  an'  it's  ill  tae  glower  at  a  cauld  hearth 
stone."  Maitland  glanced  quickly  at  the  shrewd  and 
kindly  face.  What  did  she  know  about  him  and  his  life 
and  his  "cauld  hearth  stone"?  So  he  said  nothing  but 
waited.  Suddenly  she  swerved  to  another  theme. 

"Malcolm,"  she  said,  "have  ye  secured  the  tickets  for 
the  match?" 

"Aw,  mither,  now  it  is  the  terrible  auld  sport  ye  are. 
She  drags  me  out  to  all  these  things."  His  eyes  twin- 
kled at  Maitland.  "I  can't  find  time  for  any  study." 

"Hoots  ye  and  ye're  study.  A  doot  a  rale  heartening 
scramble  on  the  ice  wad  dae  ye  mair  guid  than  an  oor  wi' 
yon  godless  Jew  buddie." 

"She  means  Marx,  of  course,"  said  McNish,  in  an- 
swer to  Maitland's  look  of  perplexity.  "She  has  no  use 
for  him." 

"But  the  tickets,  Malcolm,"  insisted  his  mother. 

"Well,  mither,  A'll  confess  I  clean  forgot  them.  Ye 
see,"  he  hurried  to  say,  "A  was  that  fashed  over  yon 
Committee  maitter " 

[139] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


"Committee  maitter!"  exclaimed  the  old  lady  indig- 
nantly. "Did  I  not  tell  ye  no  to  heed  yon  screamin'  Eng- 
lish cratur  wi'  his  revolutionary  nonsense?" 

"She  means  Simmons,"  interjected  Malcolm  with  a 
little  smile.  "He  means  well,  mither,  but  A'm  vexed 
aboot  the  tickets." 

"Mrs.  McNish,"  said  Maitland,  "I  happen  to  have 
two  tickets  that  I  can  let  you  have."  For  an  instant  she 
hesitated. 

"We  can  find  a  way  in,  I  think,  Mr.  Maitland,"  said 
Malcolm,  forestalling  his  mother's  answer.  But  with 
simple  dignity  his  mother  put  him  aside. 

"A  shall  be  verra  pleased  indeed  to  have  the  tickets, 
provided  you  can  spare  them,  Mr.  Maitland.  Never 
mind,  noo,  Malcolm.  A  ken  well  what  ye're  thinkin'. 
He's  gey  independent  and  his  mind  is  on  thae  revolu- 
tionary buddies  o'  his.  A'm  aye  tellin'  him  this  is  nae 
land  for  yon  nonsense.  Gin  we  were  in  Rooshie,  or 
Germany  whaur  the  people  have  lived  in  black  slavery  or 
even  in  the  auld  land  whaur  the  fowk  are  haudden  doon 
wi'  generations  o'  class  bondage,  there  might  be  a  chance 
for  a  revolutionary.  But  what  can  ye  dae  in  a  land 
whaur  the  fowk  are  aye  climbin'  through  ither,  noo  up, 
noo  down,  noo  maister,  noo  man?  Ye  canna  make  Ca- 
nadians revolutionaries.  They  are  a'  on  the  road  to  be 
maisters.  Malcolm  is  a  clever  loon  but  he  has  a  wee 
bee  in  his  bonnet."  The  old  lady  smiled  quizzically  at 
her  big,  serious-faced  son. 

"Noo,  mither,  ye're  just  talkin'  havers,"  he  said.  "My 
mother  is  as  great  a  Socialist  as  I  am." 

"Ay,  but  A  keep  ma  heid." 

"That  ye  do,  mither.  Ye're  gey  cannie,"  replied  her 
son,  shaking  his  head,  and  so  they  passed  the  word  to 
and  fro,  and  Maitland  sat  listening  to  the  chat.  The  de- 
[140] 


THE  DAY  BEFORE 


lightful  spirit  of  camaraderie  between  mother  and  son 
reminded  him  of  a  similar  relationship  between  mother 
and  sons  in  his  own  home  in  pre-war  days.  He  could 
not  tear  himself  away.  It  was  well  on  to  his  dinner  hour 
before  he  rose  to  go. 

"You  have  given  me  a  delightful  hour,  Mrs.  McNish," 
he  said  as  he  shook  hands.  "You  made  me  think  of  my 
own  home  in  the  old  days, — I  mean  before  the  war  came 
and  smashed  everything."  The  old  lady's  eyes  were 
kindly  scanning  his  face. 

"Ay,  the  war  smashed  yere  hame?"  Maitland  nodded 
in  silence. 

"His  brither,"  said  Malcolm,  quietly. 

"Puir  laddie,"  she  said,  patting  his  hand. 

"And  my  mother,"  added  Maitland,  speaking  with  dif- 
ficulty, "and  that,  of  course,  meant  our  home — and 
everything.  So  I  thank  you  for  a  very  happy  hour,"  he 
added  with  a  smile. 

"Wad  ye  care  to  come  again?"  said  the  old  lady  with 
a  quiet  dignity.  "We're  plain  fowk  but  ye'll  be  always 
welcome." 

"I  just  will,  Mrs.  McNish.  And  I  will  send  you  the 
tickets." 

"Man!  I  wish  ye  grand  luck  the  night.  A  grand 
victory." 

"Thank  you.  We  are  going  to  make  a  try  for  it," 
said  Maitland.  "You  must  shout  for  us." 

"Ay,  wull  I,"  she  answered  grimly.  And  she  kept  her 
word  for  of  all  the  company  that  made  up  the  Maitland 
party,  none  was  more  conspicuously  enthusiastic  in  ap- 
plause than  was  a  white-haired  old  lady  in  a  respectable 
black  bonnet  whose  wild  and  weird  Doric  expletives  and 
exclamations  were  the  joy  of  the  whole  party  about  her. 

[141] 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  NIGHT  OF  VICTORY 

It  was  an  hour  after  the  match.  They  were  gathered 
in  the  old  rendezvous  of  the  hockey  teams  in  pre-war 
days.  And  they  were  all  wildly  excited  over  the  Great 
Victory. 

"Just  think  of  it,  Mamma,  dear,"  Patricia  shouted, 
pirouetting  now  on  one  foot  and  then  on  the  other, 
"Eight  to  six!  Oh,  it  is  too  glorious  to  believe!  And 
against  that  wonderful  team,  the  Cornwalls!  Now  lis- 
ten to  me,  while  I  give  you  a  calm  and  connected  account 
of  the  game.  I  shall  always  regret  that  you  were  not 
present,  Mamma.  Victory!  And  at  half  time  we  were 
down,  five  to  two !  I  confess  disaster  and  despair  stared 
me  in  the  face.  And  we  started  off  so  gloriously !  Cap- 
tain Jack  and  Snoopy  in  the  first  five  minutes  actually 
put  in  two  goals,  with  that  back  goal  play  of  theirs.  You 
know,  I  explained  it  to  you,  Mamma." 

"Yes,  dear,  I  know,"  said  her  mother,  "but  if  you 
will  speak  a  little  more  quietly  and  slowly " 

"I  will,  Mamma,"  said  her  daughter,  sitting  down 
with  great  deliberation,  in  front  of  her.  "I  will  explain 
to  you  again  that  'round  the  goal'  play." 

"I  am  afraid,  my  dear,  that  I  could  hardly  grasp  just 
what  you  mean." 

"Well,  never  mind,  Mamma.  It  is  a  particular  and 
special  play  that  Captain  Jack  worked  out.  They  rush 
down  to  the  goal  and  instead  of  trying  to  shoot,  the  one 
with  the  puck  circles  round  the  back  and  delivers  the  puck 
immediately  in  front  of  the  goal,  where  another  takes 
[142] 


THE  NIGHT  OF  VICTORY 


and  slips  it  in.  Two  goals  in  about  five  minutes,  wasn't 
it,  Hugh?" 

"About  eight  minutes,  I  should  say,"  replied  Hugh 
Maynard,  the  big  Captain  of  the  Eagles. 

"Well,  eight  minutes,"  continued  Patricia,  taking  up 
the  tale,  "and  then  they  began  the  roughhouse  business. 
Jumbo  Larson — a  terribly  big  Swede,  Mamma — put  it 
all  over  little  Snoopy.  Chucked  him  about,  wiped  the  ice 
with  him !" 

"My  dear!"  exclaimed  her  mother. 

"Well,  you  know  what  I  mean.  A  great  big,  two-hun- 
dred-pound monster,  who  simply  threw  Snoopy  and 
Georgie  Ross  all  about  the  rink.  It  took  Captain  Jack 
all  his  time  to  stand  up  against  him.  And  then  they  ran 
in  goals  at  a  perfectly  terrific  rate.  Two — three — four — 
five!  And  only  Fatty  Findlay's  marvelous  play  kept 
down  the  score.  I  adore  Fatty!  You  know,  Mamma, 
that  dear  old  Scotchwoman " 

"Scotchwoman?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Templeton. 

"Yes.  Oh!  you  don't  know  about  her.  Captain  Jack 
brought  her  along.  Mrs.  Mc-something." 

"McNish,"  supplied  Adrien. 

"Yes,  McNish,"  continued  Patricia,  "a  perfect  dear! 
She  did  everything  but  swear.  Indeed,  she  may  have 
been  swearing  for  I  could  not  understand  half  of  what  she 
said." 

Adrien  interrupted :  "She  is  perfectly  priceless,  Moth- 
er. I  wish  you  could  meet  her — so  dignified  and  sweet." 

"Sweet!"  exclaimed  Patricia,  with  a  laugh.  "Well,  I 
didn't  see  the  sweetness,  exactly.  But  at  half  time, 
Mamma,  fancy!  they  stood  five  to  two  against  us.  It 
was  a  truly  awful  moment  for  all  of  us.  And  then,  after 
half  time,  didn't  those  Cornwalls  within  five  minutes  run 
in  another  goal,  and,  worse  than  all,  Jumbo  Larson  laid 

[I43l 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


out  Snoopy  flat  on  the  ice!  Now  the  game  stood  six  to 
two!  Think  of  it.  Mamma!" 

Then  Adrien  put  in:  "It  was  at  this  point  that  the 
old  lady  made  a  remark  which,  I  believe,  saved  the 
day.  What  was  it  exactly,  Hugh?" 

"I  didn't  quite  get  it." 

"I  know,"  said  little  Vic  Forsythe,  himself  a  star  of 
the  Eagle  forward  line.  "You  poor  Sassenach!  You 
couldn't  be  expected  to  catch  the  full,  fine  flavour  of  it. 
Maitland  was  trying  to  cheer  the  old  lady  up  when  she 
said  to  him :  'Yon  half  backs,  A'm  thinkin'  ' — she  was 
a  soccer  fan  in  the  old  land,  I  believe — 'yon  half  backs, 
A'm  thinkin',  are  gey  confident.  It  is  a  peety  they  cudna 
be  shaken  a  bit  in  their  nerves.'  By  Jove !  Maitland 
jumped  at  it.  'Mrs.  McNish,  you're  right!  you're  right. 
I  wonder  I  did  not  think  of  it  before.' ' 

Then  Adrien  broke  in :  "Yes,  from  that  moment  there 
was  a  change  in  our  men's  tactics." 

Then  Patricia  broke  in:  "Well,  then,  let  me  go  on. 
Captain  Jack  knew  quite  well  there  was  no  use  of  allow- 
ing those  little  chaps,  Snoopy  and  Geordie  Ross,  to  keep 
feeding  themselves  to  those  horrid  monsters,  Jumbo  Lar- 
son and  Macnab,  so  what  did  they  do  but  move  up  "Jack" 
Johnson  and  Macnamara.  That  is,  you  see,  Mamma, 
the  forwards  would  take  down  the  puck  and  then  up 
behind  them  would  come  the  backs,  Macnamara  and 
"Jack"  Johnson,  like  a  perfect  storm,  and  taking  the 
puck  from  the  forwards,  who  would  then  fall  back  to 
defence,  would  smash  right  on  the  Cornwall  defence.  The 
very  first  time  when  "Jack"  Johnson  came  against  Jumbo, 
Jumbo  found  himself  sitting  on  the  ice.  Oh!  it  was 
lovely!  Perfectly  lovely!  And  the  next  time  they  did 
it,  Jumbo  came  at  him  like  a  bull.  But  that  adorable 
"Jack"  Johnson  just  lifted  him  clear  off  his  feet  and 
[144] 


THE  NIGHT  OF  VICTORY 


flung  him  against  the  side.  It  seemed  to  me  that  the 
whole  rink  shook!" 

Here  Vic  broke  in :  "You  didn't  hear  what  the  old  lady 
said  at  this  point,  I  suppose.  I  was  sitting  next  to  her. 
She  was  really  a  whole  play  by  herself.  When  Jumbo 
went  smashing  against  the  side,  the  old  lady  gave  a  grunt. 
'Hum,  that  wull  sort  ye  a  doot.'  Oh !  she  is  a  peach !" 

"And  the  next  time  they  came  down,"  cried  Patricia, 
taking  up  the  tale  again,  "Jumbo  avoided  him.  For  Mac- 
namara,  'Jack'  Johnson  and  Captain  Jack  came  roaring 
down  the  ice  at  a  terrific  pace,  and  with  never  a  stop, 
smashed  head  on  into  Jumbo  and  Macnab  and  fairly 
hurled  them  in  on  Hepburn — that  is  their  goal  keeper, 
you  know — and  scored.  Oh!  Oh!  Oh!  Such  a  yell! 
Six  to  three,  and  ten  minutes  to  play." 

"But  Patricia,"  said  Mrs.  Templeton,  "do  moderate 
your  tone.  We  are  not  in  the  rink.  And  this  terrible 
excitement  can't  be  good  for  you." 

"Good  for  me?"  cried  Patricia.  "What  difference 
does  that  make?  Ten  minutes  to  play,  Mamma!  But 
that  was  the  end  of  the  roughhouse  game  by  the  Corn- 
wall defence." 

Then  Hugh  stepped  in:  "It  really  did  break  up  that 
defence.  It  was  a  wonderful  piece  of  generalship,  I 
must  say.  They  never  seemed  to  get  together  after  that." 

"Let  me  talk,  Hugh,"  exclaimed  Patricia,  "I  want  to 
tell  Mamma  what  happened  next,  for  this  was  really  the 
most  terribly  exciting  part  of  the  game.  And  I  think  it 
was  awfully  clever  cf  Captain  Jack.  You  know,  next 
time,  Mamma,  when  they  came  down — I  mean  our  men 
* — they  pretended  to  be  playing  the  same  game,  but  they 
weren't.  For  Captain  Jack  and  Snoopy  went  back  to 
their  old  specialty,  and  before  the  Cornwalls  knew  where 
they  were  at,  they  ran  in  three  goals — one-two-three,  just 

[145] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


like  that !  Oh !  you  ought  to  have  seen  that  rink,  Mamma, 
and  you  ought  to  have  heard  the  yelling!  I  wish  you 
had  been  there!  And  then,  just  at  that  last  goal  didn't 
that  horrid  Jumbo  make  a  terrible  and  cruel  swing  at 
Snoopy's  ankle,  just  as  he  passed.  Knocked  him  clean  off 
his  feet  so  that  poor  Snoopy  lay  on  the  ice  quite  still! 
He  was  really  nearly  killed.  They  had  to  carry  him  off !" 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  say  that  exactly,"  said  Hugh.  "The 
fact  of  the  matter  is,  Snoopy  is  a  clever  little  beggar  and 
I  happened  to  catch  his  wink  as  Maitland  was  bending 
over  him.  I  was  helping  him  off  the  ice,  you  know,  and 
I  heard  him  whisper,  'Don't  worry,  Captain,  I'm  all 
right.  Get  me  another  pair  of  skates.  It  will  take  a 
little  time.'  " 

"Do  you  mean  he  wasn't  hurt?"  exclaimed  Patricia 
indignantly.  "Indeed  he  was;  he  was  almost  killed,  I 
am  sure  he  was." 

"Oh,  he  was  hurt  right  enough,"  said  Hugh,  "but  he 
wasn't  killed  by  any  means !" 

"And  then,"  continued  Patricia,  "there  was  the  most 
terrible  riot  and  uproar.  Everybody  seemed  to  be  on 
the  ice  and  fighting.  Hugh  ran  in,  and  Vic — I  should 
loved  to  have  gone  myself — Hugh  was  perfectly  splen- 
did— and  all  the  Eagles  were  there  and " 

Then  Mrs.  Templeton  said:  "What  do  you  mean — a 
fight,  a  riot?" 

"A  real  riot,  Mother,"  said  Adrien,  "the  whole  crowd 
demanding  Jumbo's  removal  from  the  ice." 

"Yes,"  continued  Patricia  impatiently,  pushing  her 
sister  aside,  "Hugh  went  straight  to  the  umpire  and  it 
looked  almost  as  though  he  was  going  to  fight,  the  way 
he  tore  in.  But  he  didn't.  He  just  spoke  quietly  to  the 
umpire.  What  did  you  say,  Hugh?" 

"Oh,"  cried  Vic,  "Hugh  was  perfectly  calm  and  su- 
[146] 


THE  NIGHT  OF  VICTORY 


perior.  He  knows  the  umpire  well.  Indeed,  I  think  the 
umpire  owes  his  life  to  Hugh  and  his  protecting  band 
of  Eagles." 

"What  did  he  say,"  cried  Patricia.  "I  wish  I  could 
have  heard  that." 

"Oh,"  said  Vic,  "there  was  an  interesting  conversa- 
tion. 'Keep  out  of  this,  Maynard.  You  ought  to  know 
better/  the  umpire  said,  'keep  out.'  'Baker,  that  man 
Larson  must  go  off.'  'Rubbish,'  said  the  umpire,  'they 
were  both  roughing  it.'  'Look  here,  Baker,  that's  rot 
and  you  know  it.  It  was  a  deliberate  and  beastly  trick. 
Put  him  off!'  'He  stays  on!'  said  the  umpire,  and  he 
stuck  to  it,  I'll  give  him  credit  for  that.  It  was  old 
Maitland  that  saved  the  day.  He  came  up  smiling.  'I 
hope  you  are  taking  off  the  time,  umpire,'  he  said,  with 
that  little  laugh  of  his.  'I  am  not  going  to  put  Larson 
off,'  shouted  the  umpire  to  him.  'Who  asked  you  to?' 
said  Maitland.  'Go  on  with  the  game.'  That  saved  the 
day.  They  all  started  cheering.  The  ice  was  cleared 
and  the  game  went  on." 

"Oh,  that  was  it.  I  couldn't  understand.  They  were 
so  savage  first,  and  then  suddenly  they  all  seemed  to 
quiet  down.  It  was  Captain  Jack.  Well,  Mamma,  on 
they  came  again!  But  when  poor  Snoopy  came  out,  all 
bandaged  round  the  head  and  the  blood  showing 
through " 

"Quite  a  clever  little  beggar,"  murmured  Vic. 

"Clever?    What  do  you  mean  ?"  cried  Patricia. 

"Oh,  well,  good  psychology,  I  mean — that's  all. 
Bloody  bandages — demanding  vengeance,  Jack's  team, 
you  know — Macnamara,  for  instance,  entreating  his 
captain  for  the  love  of  heaven  to  put  him  opposite  Jumbo 
— shaking  the  morale  of  the  enemy  and  so  forth — mighty 
good  psychology." 

[147] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


"I  don't  know  exactly  what  you  mean,"  said  Patricia, 
"but  the  Cornwall  defence  was  certainly  rattled.  They 
pulled  their  men  back  and  played  defence  like  perfect 
demons,  with  the  Mill  men  on  to  them  like  tigers." 

"But  Patricia,  my  dear,"  said  her  mother,  "those  are 
terrible  words." 

"But,  Mamma,  not  half  so  terrible  as  the  real  thing. 
Oh,  it  was  perfectly  splendid !  And  then  how  did  it  fin- 
ish, Hugh  ?  I  didn't  quite  see  how  that  play  came  about." 

"I  didn't  see,  either,"  said  Hugh. 

"Didn't  you?"  cried  Adrien,  "I  did.  Jack  and  Geor- 
die  Ross  were  going  down  the  centre  at  a  perfectly  ter- 
rific speed,  big  Macnamara  backing  them  up.  Out  came 
Macnab  and  Jumbo  Larson  following  him.  Macnab 
checked  Geordie,  who  passed  to  Jack,  who  slipped  it  back 
to  Macnamara.  Down  came  Jumbo  like  a  perfect  thun- 
derbolt and  fairly  hurled  himself  upon  Macnamara.  I 
don't  know  what  happened  then,  but " 

"Oh,  I  do!"  cried  Vic.  "When  old  Jumbo  came 
hurtling  down  upon  Macnamara,  this  was  evidently  what 
Macnamara  was  waiting  for.  Indeed,  what  he  had  been 
praying  for  all  through  the  game.  I  saw  him  gather 
himself,  crouch  low,  lurch  forward  with  shoulder  well 
down,  a  wrestler's  trick — you  know  Macnamara  was  the 
champion  wrestler  of  his  division  in  France — he  caught 
Jumbo  low.  Result,  a  terrific  catapult,  and  the  big  Swede 
lay  on  his  back  some  twenty  feet  away.  Everybody 
thought  he  was  dead." 

"Oh,  it  was  perfectly  lovely!"  exclaimed  Patricia, 
rapturously. 

"But,  my  dear,"  said  her  mother,  "lovely,  and  they 
thought  the  man  was  dead !" 

"Oh,  but  he  wasn't  dead.  He  came  to.  I  will  say  he 
was  very  plucky.  Then  just  as  they  faced  off,  time  was 
[148] 


THE  NIGHT  OF  VICTORY 


called.  Six  to  six!  Think  of  it,  Mamma,  six  to  six! 
And  we  had  been  five  to  two  at  half  time!'' 

"Six  to  six?"  said  Mrs.  Templeton.  "But  I  thought 
you  said  we  won?" 

"Oh,  listen,  Mamma,  this  is  the  most  wonderful  thing 
of  the  whole  match,"  said  Adrien,  trying  to  break  in  on 
the  tornado  of  words  from  her  younger  sister. 

"No,  let  me,  Adrien!  I  know  exactly  how  it  was 
done.  Captain  Jack  explained  it  to  me  before.  It  was 
Captain  Jack's  specialty.  It  was  what  they  call  the 
double-circle.  Here  is  the  way  it  was  worked."  Pa- 
tricia sprang  to  her  feet,  arranged  two  chairs  for  goal 
and  proceeded  to  demonstrate.  "You  see,  Mamma,  in  the 
single  circle  play,  Captain  Jack  and  Snoopy  come  down 
— say  Snoopy  has  the  puck.  Just  as  they  get  near  the 
goal  Snoopy  fools  the  back,  rushes  round  the  goal  and 
passes  to  Jack,  who  is  standing  in  front  ready  to  slip  it 
in.  But  of  course  the  Cornwalls  were  prepared  for  the 
play.  But  that  is  where  the  double-circle  comes  in.  This 
time  Geordie  had  the  puck,  with  Captain  Jack  imme- 
diately at  his  left  and  Snoopy  further  out.  Well,  Geordie 
had  the  puck,  you  see.  He  rushes  down  and  pretends 
to  make  the  circle  of  the  goal.  But  this  time  he  doesn't. 
He  tears  like  mad  around  the  goal  with  the  puck,  Snoopy 
tears  like  mad  around  the  goal  from  the  other  side,  the 
defence  all  rush  over  to  the  left  to  check  them,  leaving 
the  right  wide  open.  Snoopy  takes  the  ball  from  Geordie, 
rushes  around  the  goal  the  other  way,  Mamma,  do  you 
see? — passes  back  to  Reddy,  his  partner,  who  slips  it  in! 
And  poor  Jumbo  was  unable  to  do  anything.  I  believe 
he  was  still  dazed  from  his  terrible  fall !" 

Then  Hugh  breaks  in :  "It  really  was  beautifully  done." 

"It  certainly  was,"  said  Vic. 

"Seven  to  six,  Mamma,  think  of  it!    Seven  to  six,  and 

[149] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


two  minutes  of  the  first  overtime  to  play.  Two  minutes ! 
It  just  seemed  that  our  men  could  do  as  they  liked.  The 
last  time  the  whole  forward  lines  came  down,  with  Mac- 
namara  and  'Jack'  Johnson  roaring  and  yelling  like — 
like — I  don't  know  what.  And  they  did  the  double-circle 
again!  Think  of  it!  And  then  time  was  called.  Oh,  I 
am  perfectly  exhausted  with  this  excitement!"  said  Pa- 
tricia, sinking  back  into  her  chair.  "I  don't  believe  I 
could  go  down  to  that  rink,  not  even  for  another  game. 
It  is  terribly  trying!" 

At  this  moment  Rupert  Stillwell  came  in,  full  of  en- 
thusiasm for  the  Cornwalls'  scientific  hockey,  and  with 
grudging  praise  for  the  local  team,  deploring  their 
roughhouse  tactics.  But  he  met  a  sharp  and  unexpected 
check,  for  Adrien  took  him  in  hand,  in  her  quiet,  cool, 
efficient  manner. 

"Roughhouse!"  she  said.  "What  do  you  mean  ex- 
actly by  that?" 

"Well,"  said  Rupert,  somewhat  taken  aback,  "for  in- 
stance that  charge  af  Macnamara  on  Jumbo  Larson  at 
the  last." 

"I  saw  that  quite  clearly,"  said  Adrien,  "and  it  ap- 
peared to  me  quite  all  right.  It  was  Larson  who  made 
the  most  furious  charge  upon  Macnamara." 

"Of  course  it  was,"  cried  Patricia,  indignantly.  "Jumbo 
deserved  all  he  got.  Why,  the  way  he  mauled  little 
Snoopy  and  Geordie  Ross  in  the  first  part  of  the  game 
was  perfectly  horrid.  Don't  you  think  so,  Hugh?" 

"Oh,  well,  hockey  is  not  tiddly-winks,  you  know, 
Patricia,  and " 

"As  if  I  didn't  know  that!"  broke  in  the  girl  indig- 
nantly. 

"And  Jumbo  and  Macnab,"  continued  Hugh,  "really 
had  to  break  up  the  dangerous  combination  there.  Of 

[150] 


THE  NIGHT  OF  VICTORY 


course  that  was  a  rotten  assault  on  Snoopy.  It  wasn't 
Jumbo's  fault  that  he  didn't  break  an  ankle.  As  it  was, 
he  gave  him  a  very  bad  fall." 

At  this  Rupert  laughed  scornfully.  "Rot,"  he  said, 
"the  whole  town  is  laughing  at  all  that  bloody  bandage 
business.  It  was  a  bit  of  stage  play.  Very  clever,  I  con- 
fess, but  no  hockey.  I  happen  to  know  that  Maitland  was 
quite  hot  about  it." 

But  Hugh  and  Vic  only  laughed  at  him. 

"He  is  a  clever  little  beggar,  is  Snoopy,"  said  Vic. 

"But,  meantime,"  said  Mrs.  Templeton,  "where  is 
Jack!  He  was  going  to  be  here,  was  he  not?" 

"Feasting  and  dancing,  I  expect,"  said  Rupert.  "There 
is  a  big  supper  on,  given  by  the  Mill  management,  and 
a  dance  afterwards — 'hot  time  in  the  old  town/  eh?" 

"A  dance  ?"  gasped  Patricia.    "A  dance !    Where  ?" 

"Odd  Fellows'  Hall,"  said  Rupert.  "Want  to  go?  I 
have  tickets.  Don't  care  for  that  sort  of  thing  myself. 
Rather  a  mixed  affair,  I  guess.  Mill  hands  and  their 
girls." 

"Oh,"  breathed  Patricia,  "I  should  love  to  go. 
Couldn't  we?" 

"But  my  dear  Patricia,"  said  her  mother,  "a  dance, 
with  all  those  people  ?  What  nonsense.  But  I  wish  Jack 
would  drop  in.  I  should  so  like  to  congratulate  him  on 
his  great  victory." 

"Oh,  do  let  us  go,  just  for  a  few  minutes,  Mamma," 
entreated  Patricia.  "Hugh,  have  you  tickets?" 

The  men  looked  at  each  other. 

"Well,"  confessed  Vic,  "I  was  thinking  of  dropping 
in  myself.  After  all,  it  is  our  home  team  and  they  are 
good  sports.  And  Maitland  handled  them  with  won- 
derful skill." 

"Yes,  I  am  going,"  said  Hugh.    "I  am  bound  to  go  as 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


Captain  of  the  Eagles,  and  that  sort  of  thing,  but  I  would, 
anyway.  Would  you  care  to  come,  Adrien,  if  Mrs. 
Templeton  will  allow  you?  Of  course  there  are  chaper- 
ons. Maitland  would  see  to  that." 

"I  should  like  awfully  to  go/'  said  Adrien  eagerly. 
"We  might,  for  a  few  minutes,  Mother?  Of  course, 
Patricia  should  be  in  bed,  really." 

Poor  Patricia's  face  fell. 

"It  is  no  place  for  any  of  you,"  said  the  mother,  de- 
cidedly. "Just  think  of  that  mixed  multitude!  And 
you,  Patricia,  you  should  be  in  bed." 

"But  oh,  Mamma,  dear,"  wailed  Patricia,  "I  can  rest 
all  day  to-morrow." 

At  this  point  a  new  voice  broke  in  to  the  discussion 
and  Doctor  Templeton  appeared.  "Well,  what's  the  ex- 
citement," he  enquired.  "Oh,  the  match,  of  course! 
Well,  what  was  the  result?" 

"Oh,  Daddy,  we  won,  we  won !"  cried  Patricia,  spring- 
ing at  him.  "The  most  glorious  match!  Big  Jumbo 
Larson,  a  perfect  monster  on  the  Cornwall  defence,  was 
knocked  out!  Oh,  it  was  a  glorious  match!  And  can't 
I  go  down  to  see  the  dance  ?  Adrien  and  Hugh  and  Vic 
are  going.  Only  for  a  few  minutes,"  she  begged,  with 
her  arms  around  her  father's  neck.  "Say  yes,  Daddy!" 

"Give  me  time ;  let  me  get  my  breath,  Patricia.  Now, 
do  begin  somewhere — say,  with  the  score." 

They  all  gave  him  the  score. 

"Hurrah!"  cried  the  old  doctor.  "No  one  hurt — se- 
riously, I  mean?" 

"No,"  said  Patricia,  "except  perhaps  Jumbo  Larson," 
she  added  hopefully. 

"The  Lord  was  merciful  to  this  family  when  he  made 
you  a  girl,  Patricia,"  said  her  father. 

"But,   Daddy,  it    was    a    wonderful    game."     Quite 

[152] 


THE  NIGHT  OF  VICTORY 


breathlessly,  she  went  once  more  over  the  outstanding 
features  of  the  play. 

"Sounds  rather  bloody,  I  must  say,"  said  her  father, 
doubtfully. 

But  Hugh  said:  "It  was  not  really — not  quite  so  bad 
as  Patricia  makes  it,  sir.  Rough  at  times,  of  course,  but, 
on  the  whole,  clean." 

"Clean,"  cried  Patricia,  "what  about  Jumbo's  swing 
at  Snoopy?" 

"Oh,  well,  Snoopy  had  the  puck,  you  know.  It  was 
a  little  off-colour,  I  must  confess. 

"And  now,  Daddy,"  said  Patricia,  going  at  her  father 
again,  "we  all  want  to  go  down  to  the  dance.  There 
will  be  speeches,  you  know,  and  I  do  want  to  hear  Cap- 
tain Jack,"  she  added,  not  without  guile.  "Won't  you 
let  me  go  with  them?  Hugh  will  take  care  of  me." 

"I  think  I  should  rather  like  to  go  myself,"  said  her 
father.  A  shout  of  approval  rose  from  the  whole  com- 
pany. "But,"  continued  the  doctor,  "I  don't  think  I  can. 
My  dear,  I  think  they  might  go  for  a  few  minutes — and 
you  can  bring  me  in  a  full  account  of  the  speeches,  Pa- 
tricia," he  added,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"But,  my  dear,"  exclaimed  his  wife,  "this  is  one  of 
those  awful  public  affairs.  You  can't  imagine  what  they 
are  like.  The  Mill  hands  will  all  be  there,  and  that  sort 
of  people." 

"Well,  my  dear,  Jack  Maitland  will  be  there,  I  fancy, 
and  you  were  thinking  of  going,  Hugh  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,  I  am  going.  Of  course  there  will  be  a  num- 
ber of  the  friends  of  both  teams,  townspeople.  Of 
course  the  Mill  hands  will  be  there,  too,  in  large  num- 
bers. It  will  be  great  fun." 

"Well,  my  dear,"  said  the  doctor,  "I  think  they  might 
go  down  for  a  few  minutes.  But  be  sure  to  be  back  be- 

[153] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


fore  midnight.     Remember,  Patricia,  you  are  to  do  ex- 
actly as  your  sister  says." 

Then  Vic  said :  "I  shall  keep  a  firm  hand  on  her,  sir." 

"Oh,  you  darling,"  Patricia  cried,  hugging  her  father 
rapturously.  "I  will  be  so  good ;  and  won't  it  be  fun !" 

Odd  Fellows'  Hall  was  elaborately  decorated  with  bunt- 
ing and  evergreens.  The  party  from  the  Rectory,  ar- 
riving in  time  to  hear  the  closing  speeches  of  the  two 
team  captains,  took  their  places  in  the  gallery.  The 
speeches  were  brief  and  to  the  point. 

The  Captain  of  the  visiting  team  declared  that  he  had 
greatly  enjoyed  the  game.  He  was  not  quite  convinced 
that  the  best  team  had  won,  but  he  would  say  that  the 
game  had  gone  to  the  team  that  had  put  up  the  best  play. 
He  complimented  Captain  Maitland  upon  his  general- 
ship. He  had  known  Captain  Maitland  in  the  old  days 
and  he  ought  to  have  been  on  the  lookout  for  the  kind 
of  thing  he  had  put  over.  The  Maitland  Mill  team  had 
made  a  perfectly  wonderful  recovery  in  the  last  quarter, 
though  he  rather  thought  his  friend  Macnamara  had 
helped  it  a  little  at  a  critical  point. 

"He  did  that,"  exclaimed  Jumbo  Larson,  with  marked 
emphasis. 

After  the  roar  of  laughter  had  quieted  down,  the 
Cornwall  Captain  closed  by  expressing  the  hope  that  the 
Maitland  Mill  team  would  try  for  a  place  next  season  in 
the  senior  hockey.  In  which  case  he  expressed  the  hope 
that  he  might  have  the  pleasure  of  meeting  them  again. 

Captain  Maitland's  speech  was  characteristic.  He  had 
nothing  but  praise  for  the  Cornwalls.  They  played  a 
wonderful  game  and  a  clean  game.  He  shared  in  the 
doubt  of  their  Captain  as  to  which  was  the  better  team. 
He  frankly  confessed  that  in  the  last  quarter  the  luck 
came  to  his  team. 

[154] 


"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  roared  the  Cornwalls  with  one  voice. 

As  to  his  own  team,  he  was  particularly  proud  of  the 
way  they  had  taken  the  training — their  fine  self-denial, 
and  especially  the  never-dying  spirit  which  they  showed. 
It  was  a  great  honour  for  his  team  to  meet  the  Corn- 
walls.  A  hard  team  to  meet — sometimes — as  Snoopy 
and  himself  had  found  out  that  evening — but  they  were 
good  sports  and  he  hoped  some  day  to  meet  them  again. 

After  the  usual  cheers  for  the  teams,  individually  and 
collectively,  for  their  supporters,  for  the  Mill  manage- 
ment and  for  the  ladies,  the  dinner  came  to  an  end,  the 
whole  party  joining  with  wide  open  throats  and  all 
standing  at  attention,  in  the  Canadian  and  the  Empire 
national  anthems. 

While  the  supper  table  was  being  cleared  away  pre- 
paratory to  the  dance,  Captain  Jack  rushed  upstairs  to 
the  party  in  the  gallery.  Patricia  flung  herself  at  him 
in  an  ecstasy  of  rapture. 

"Oh !  Captain  Jack,  you  did  win !  You  did  win !  You 
did  win!  It  was  glorious!  And  that  double-circle  play 
that  you  and  Snoopy  put  up — didn't  it  work  beautifully!" 

"We  were  mighty  lucky,"  said  Captain  Jack. 

The  others,  Hugh,  Vic  and  Rupert,  crowded  round, 
offering  congratulations.  Adrien  waited  behind,  a  won- 
derful light  shining  in  her  eyes,  a  faint  colour  touching 
her  pale  cheek.  Captain  Jack  came  slowly  forward. 

"Are  you  not  going  to  congratulate  us,  too,  Adrien?" 
he  said. 

She  moved  a  pace  forward. 

"Oh,  Jack,"  she  whispered,  leaning  toward  him  and 
breathing  quickly,  "it  was  so  like  the  old,  the  dear  old 
days." 

Into  Maitland's  eyes  there  flashed  a  look  of  surprise, 

[1551 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


of  wonder,  then  of  piercing  scrutiny,  while  his  face  grew 
white. 

"Adrien,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  low,  tense,  almost  stern, 
which  she  alone  heard.  "What  do  you  mean?  Then 
do  you " 

"Oh,  Captain  Jack,"  cried  Patricia,  catching  his  arm, 
"are  you  going  to  dance?  You  are,  aren't  you?  And 

will  you  give  me Oh,  I  daren't  ask !  You  are  such 

a  great  hero  to-night!" 

"Why,  Patsy,  will  you  give  me  a  dance?" 

The  girl  stood  gazing  at  him  with  eyes  that  grew 
misty,  the  quick  beating  of  her  loyal  heart  almost  suffo- 
cating her. 

"Oh,  Captain  Jack,"  she  gasped,  "how  many?" 

Maitland  laughed  at  her,  and  turned  to  her  sister. 

"And  you,  Adrien,  may  I  have  a  dance?" 

Again  Adrien  leaned  toward  him. 

"One?"  she  asked. 

"And  as  many  more  as  you  can  spare." 

"My  program  is  quite  empty,  you  see,"  she  said, 
flinging  out  her  hands  and  laughing  joyously  into  his 
face. 

"What  about  me?  And  me?  And  me?"  said  the 
other  three  men. 

"I  suppose  we  are  all  nowhere  to-night,"  added  Rupert, 
with  a  touch  of  bitterness  in  his  voice. 

"Well,  there  is  only  one  conquering  hero,  you  know," 
replied  Adrien,  smiling  at  them  all. 

"Now  I  must  run  off,"  said  Maitland.  "You  see,  I  am 
on  duty,  as  it  were.  Come  down  in  a  few  minutes." 

"Yes,  go,  Jack,"  said  Adrien,  throwing  him  a  warm 
smile.  "We  will  follow  you  in  a  few  minutes." 

"Oh,  I  am  so  excited!"  said  Patricia,  as  Maitland 
disappeared  down  the  stairs.  "I  mean  to  dance  with  every 

[156] 


THE  NIGHT  OF  VICTORY 


one  of  the  team.  I  know  I  am  going  to  have  a  perfectly 
lovely  time!  But  I  would  give  them  all  up  if  I  could 
have  Captain  Jack  all  the  time." 

"Pig,"  said  her  sister,  smiling  at  her. 

"Wretch,"  cried  Vic,  making  a  face. 

But  Patricia  was  quite  unabashed.  "I  am  going  to 
have  him  just  as  often  as  I  can,"  she  said,  brazenly. 

For  a  few  minutes  they  stood  watching  the  dancers 
on  the  floor  below.  It  was  indeed,  as  Mrs.  Templeton  had 
said,  a  "mixed  multitude."  Mill  hands  and  their  girls, 
townsfolk  whose  social  standing  was  sufficiently  assured 
to  endure  the  venture.  A  mixed  multitude,  but  thor- 
oughly jolly,  making  up  in  vigour  what  was  lacking  in 
grace  in  their  exposition  of  the  Terpsichorean  art. 

"Rather  ghastly,"  said  Rupert,  who  appeared  to  be 
quite  disgusted  with  the  whole  evening's  proceedings. 

"Lovely!"  exclaimed  Patricia. 

"They  are  enjoying  themselves,  at  any  rate,"  said 
Adrien,  "and,  after  all,  that  is  what  people  dance  for." 

"Stacks  of  fun.  I  am  all  for  it,  eh,  Pat?"  said  Vic, 
making  adoring  eyes  at  the  young  girl. 

But  Patricia  severely  ignored  him. 

"Oh,  Adrien,  look!"  she  cried  suddenly.  "There  is 
Annette,  and  who  is  the  big  man  with  her?  Oh,  what 
.an  awful  dancer  he  is!  But  Annette,  isn't  she  won- 
derful! What  a  lovely  dress!  I  think  she  is  the  most 
beautiful  thing."  And  Patricia  was  right,  for  Annette 
was  radiant  in  colour  and  unapproachable  in  the  grace  of 
her  movement. 

"By  Jove!  She  is  a  wonder!"  said  Vic.  "Some 
dancer,  if  she  only  had  a  chance." 

"Well,  why  don't  you  go  down,  Vic,"  said  Patricia 
sharply.  "You  know  you  are  just  aching  to  show  off 
your  fox  trot.  Run  away,  little  boy,  I  won't  mind." 

[157] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


"I  don't  believe  you  would,"  replied  Vic  ruefully. 

For  some  minutes  longer  they  all  stood  watching  the 
scene  below. 

"They  are  a  jolly  crowd,"  said  Adrien.  "I  don't  think 
we  have  half  the  fun  at  our  dances." 

"They  certainly  get  a  lot  for  their  money,"  said  Vic. 
"But  wait  till  they  come  to  'turkey-in-the-straw !'  That 
is  where  they  really  cut  loose." 

"Oh,  pshaw!"  cried  Patricia.  "I  can  'turkey'  myself. 
Just  wait  and  you'll  see." 

"So  can  I,"  murmured  Vic.  "Will  you  let  me  in  on 
it?  Hello,"  he  continued,  "there  is  the  Captain  and 
Annette.  Now  look  out  for  high  art.  I  know  the  Cap- 
tain's style.  And  a  two-step!  My  eye!  She  is  a  little 
airy  fairy!" 

"How  beautifully  she  dances,"  said  Adrien.  "And 
how  charmingly  she  is  dressed." 

"They  do  hit  it  off,  don't  they,"  said  Rupert.  "They 
evidently  know  each  other's  paces." 

Suddenly  Adrien  turned  to  Hugh:  "Don't  you  think 
we  should  go  down?"  she  asked.  "You  know  we  must 
not  stay  late." 

"Yes,  do  come  along!"  cried  Patricia,  seizing  Victor 
by  the  arm  and  hurrying  to  the  stairs,  the  others  making 
their  way  more  leisurely  to  the  dancing  room. 

The  hall  was  a  scene  of  confused  hilarity.  Maitland 
was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

"Oh!  let  us  dance,  Vic!"  cried  Patricia.  "There  is 
really  no  use  waiting  for  Captain  Jack.  At  any  rate, 
Adrien  will  claim  the  first  dance." 

No  second  invitation  was  needed  and  together  they 
swung  off  into  the  medley  of  dancers. 

"We  may  as  well  follow,"  said  Hugh.  "We  shall 
doubtless  run  into  Maitland  somewhere  before  long." 

[158] 


THE  NIGHT  OF  VICTORY 


But  not  in  that  dance,  nor  in  the  three  successive  dances 
did  Maitland  appear.  The  precious  moments  were  slip- 
ping by.  Patricia  was  becoming  more  and  more  anxious 
and  fretful  at  the  non-appearance  of  her  hero.  Also, 
Hugh  began  to  notice  and  detect  a  lagging  in  his  part- 
ner's step. 

"Shall  we  go  out  into  the  corridor?"  he  said.  "This 
air  is  beginning  to  be  rather  trying." 

From  the  crowded  hall  they  passed  into  the  corridor, 
from  which  opened  side  rooms  which  were  used  as  dress- 
ing and  retiring  rooms,  and  whose  entrances  were  clev- 
erly screened  by  a  row  of  thick  spruce  trees  set  up  for 
the  occasion. 

"This  is  better,"  said  Hugh,  drawing  a  deep  breath. 
"Shall  we  sit  a  bit  and  rest?" 

"Oh,  do  let  us,"  said  Adrien.  "This  has  been  a 
strenuous  and  exciting  evening.  I  really  feel  quite  done 
out.  Here  is  a  most  inviting  seat." 

Wearily  she  sat  down  on  a  bench  which  faced  the  en- 
trance to  one  of  the  rooms. 

"Shall  I  bring  you  a  glass  of  water  or  an  ice,  Adrien  ?" 
inquired  Hugh,  noting  the  pallor  in  her  face. 

"Thank  you.  A  glass  of  water,  if  you  will  be  so 
kind.  How  deliciously  fragrant  that  spruce  is." 

As  her  partner  set  off  upon  his  errand,  Adrien  stepped 
to  the  spruce  tree  which  screened  the  open  door  of  the 
room  opposite,  and  taking  the  bosky  branches  in  her 
hands,  she  thrust  her  face  into  the  aromatic  foliage. 

"How  deliciously  fragrant,"  she  murmured. 

Suddenly,  as  if  stabbed  by  a  spine  in  the  trees,  she 
started  back  and  stood  gazing  through  the  thick  branches 
into  the  room  beyond.  There  stood  Maitland  and  An- 
nette, the  girl,  with  her  face  tearfully  pale  and  pleading, 
uplifted  to  his  and  with  her  hands  gripped  tight  and 

[1591 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


held  fast  in  his,  clasped  against  his  breast.  More  plainly 
than  words  her  face,  her  eyes,  her  attitude  told  her  tale. 
She  was  pouring  out  her  very  soul  to  him  in  entreaty, 
and  he  w^s  giving  eager,  sympathetic  heed  to  her  appeal. 

Swiftly  Adrien  stepped  back  from  the  screening  tree, 
her  face  white  as  if  from  a  stunning  blow,  her  heart- 
beats checking  her  breath.  Quickly,  blindly,  she  ran  down 
the  corridor.  At  the  very  end  she  met  Hugh  with  a 
glass  of  water  in  his  hand. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Adrien?  Have  you  seen  a 
ghost?"  he  cried  in  an  anxious  voice. 

She  caught  the  glass  from  his  hand  and  began  to 
drink,  at  first  greedily,  then  more  slowly. 

"Ah!"  she  said,  drawing  a  deep  breath.  "That  is 
good.  Do  you  know,  I  was  almost  overcome.  The  air 
of  that  room  is  quite  deadly.  Now  I  am  all  right.  Let 
us  get  a  breath  from  the  outside,  Hugh." 

Taking  him  by  the  arm,  she  hastened  him  to  the  farther 
end  of  the  corridor  and  opened  the  door.  "Oh,  delicious !" 
She  drew  in  deep  breaths  of  the  cold,  fresh  air. 

"How  wonderful  the  night  is,  Hugh."  She  leaned  far 
out,  "and  the  snow  was  like  a  cloth  of  silver  and  diamonds 
in  this  glorious  moon."  She  stooped,  and  from  a  gleam- 
ing bank  beside  the  door  she  caught  up  a  double  hand- 
ful of  the  snow  and,  packing  it  into  a  little  ball,  flung  it 
at  her  partner,  catching  him  fairly  on  the  ear. 

"Aha!"  she  cried.  "Don't  ever  say  a  woman  is  a 
poor  shot.  Now  then,"  she  added,  stamping  her  feet  free 
from  the  clinging  flakes  and  waving  her  hands  in  the 
air  to  dry  them,  "I  feel  fit  for  anything.  Let  us  have 
one  more  dance  before  we  go  home,  for  I  feel  we  really 
must  go." 

"You  are  sure  you  are  quite  fit  ?"  inquired  Hugh,  still 
anxious  for  her. 

[160] 


THE  NIGHT  OF  VICTORY 


"Fit?  Look  at  me!"  Her  cheeks  were  bright  with 
colour,  her  eyes  with  light. 

"You  surely  do  look  fit,"  said  Hugh,  beaming  at  her 
with  frank  admiration.  "But  you  were  all  in  a  few 
moments  ago." 

"Come  along.  There  is  a  way  into  the  hall  by  this 
door,"  she  cried,  catching  his  hand  and  hurrying  him 
into  the  dancing  room  again. 

At  the  conclusion  of  their  dance  they  came  upon  Pa- 
tricia near  the  main  entrance,  in  great  distress.  "I  have 
not  seen  Captain  Jack  anywhere,"  she  lamented.  "Have 
you,  Adrien?  I  have  just  sent  Vic  for  a  final  search.  I 
simply  cannot  go  home  till  I  have  had  my  dance."  The 
girl  was  almost  in  tears. 

"Never  mind,  dear,"  said  Adrien.  "He  has  many 
duties  to-night  with  all  these  players  to  look  after.  I 
think  we  had  better  go  whenever  Vic  returns.  I  am 
awfully  sorry  for  you,  Patricia,"  she  added.  "No!  Don't! 
You  simply  must  not  cry  here."  She  put  her  arm  around 
her  sister's  shoulder,  her  own  lips  trembling,  and  drew 
her  close.  "Where  has  Vic  gone,  I  wonder  ?" 

That  young  man,  however,  was  having  his  own  trials. 
In  his  search  for  Maitland  he  ran  across  McNish,  whom 
he  recognised  as  Annette's  partner  in  the  first  dance. 

"Hello!"  he  cried.  "Do  you  know  where  Captain 
Maitland  is,  by  any  chance?" 

"No,  how  should  I  know,"  replied  McNish,  in  a  voice 
fiercely  guttural. 

"Oh !"  said  Vic,  somewhat  abashed.  "I  saw  you  dance 
with  Annette — with  Miss  Perrotte — and  I  thought  per- 
haps you  might  know  where  the  Captain  was." 

McNish  stood  glowering  at  him  for  a  moment  or  two, 
then  burst  forth : 

"They  are  awa' — he's  ta'en  her  awa'." 

[161] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


"Away,"  said  Vic.     "Where?" 

"To  hell  for  all  I  ken  or  care." 

Then  with  a  single  stride  McNish  was  close  at  his 
side,  gripping  his  arm  with  fingers  that  seemed  to  reach 
the  bone. 

"Ye're  a  friend  o'  his.  Let  me  say  tae  ye  if  ony  ill 
cames  tae  her,  by  the  leevin'  God  above  us  he  wull  an- 
swer tae  me."  Hoarse,  panting,  his  face  that  of  a  ma- 
niac, he  stood  glaring  wild-eyed  at  the  young  man  be- 
fore him.  To  say  that  Vic  was  shaken  by  this  sudden 
and  violent  onslaught  would  be  much  within  the  truth. 
Nevertheless  he  boldly  faced  the  passion-distracted  man. 

"Look  here!  I  don't  know  who  you  are  or  what  you 
mean,"  he  said,  in  as  steady  tones  as  he  could  summon, 
"but  if  you  suggest  that  any  girl  will  come  to  harm  from 
Captain  Maitland,  then  I  say  you  are  a  liar  and  a  fool." 
So  speaking,  little  Vic  set  himself  for  the  rush  which  he 
was  firmly  convinced  would  come.  McNish,  however, 
stood  still,  fighting  for  control.  Then,  between  his  deep- 
drawn  breaths,  he  slowly  spoke : 

"Ye  may  be  richt.  A  hope  tae  God  A  am  baith  liar 
and  fule."  The  agony  in  his  face  moved  Vic  to  pity. 

"I  say,  old  chap,"  he  said,  "you  are  terribly  mistaken 
somehow,  I  can  swear  to  that.  Where  is  Maitland,  any- 
way, do  you  know  ?" 

"They  went  away  together."  McNish  had  suddenly 
gotten  himself  in  hand.  "They  went  away  in  his  car, 
secretly." 

"Secretly,"  said  Vic,  scornfully.  "Now,  that  is  per- 
fect rot.  Look  here,  do  you  know  Captain  Maitland?  I 
am  his  friend,  and  let  me  tell  you  that  all  I  ever  hope  to 
own,  here  and  hereafter,  and  all  my  relatives  and  friends, 
I  would  gladly  trust  with  him." 

"Maybe,  maybe,"  muttered  McNish.  "Ye  may  be 
[162] 


THE  NIGHT  OF  VICTORY 


richt.  A  apologise,  sir,  but  if "  His  eyes  blazed 

again. 

"Aw,  cut  out  the  tragedy  stuff,"  said  Vic,  "and  don't 
be  an  ass.  Good-night." 

Vic  turned  on  his  heel  and  left  McNish  standing  in 
a  dull  and  dazed  condition,  and  made  his  way  toward 
the  ballroom. 

"Who  is  the  Johnny,  anyway?"  he  said  to  himself. 
"He  is  mad — looney — utterly  bughouse.  Needs  a  keeper 
in  the  worst  way.  But  what  about  the  Captain — must 
think  up  something.  Let's  see.  Taken  suddenly  ill? 
Hardly — there  is  the  girl  to  account  for.  Her  mother — 
grandmother — or  something — stricken — let's  see.  An- 
nette has  a  brother — By  Jove!  the  very  thing — I've  got 
•it — brother  met  with  an  accident — run  over — fell  down 
a  well — anything.  Hurry  call — ambulance  stuff.  Good 
line.  Needs  working  up  a  bit,  though.  What  has  hap- 
pened to  my  grey  matter?  Let  me  think.  Ah,  yes — 
when  that  Johnny  brought  word  of  an  accident,  a  serious 
accident  to  her  brother,  Maitland,  naturally  enough,  the 
gallant  soul,  hurries  her  off  in  his  car,  sending  word  by 
aforesaid  mad  Johnny." 

Vic  went  to  the  outer  door,  feeling  the  necessity  for 
a  somewhat  careful  conning  of  his  tale  to  give  it,  as 
he  said  himself,  a  little  artistic  verisimilitude.  Then, 
with  his  lesson — as  he  thought — well  learned,  and  pray- 
ing for  aid  of  unknown  gods,  he  went  back  to  find  his 
partner. 

"If  only  Patricia  will  keep  out  of  it,"  he  said  to  him- 
self as  he  neared  the  hall  door,  "or  if  I  could  only  catch 
old  Hugh  first.  But  he  is  not  much  of  a  help  in  this  sort 
of  thing.  Dash  it  all!  I  am  quite  nervous.  This  will 
never  do.  Must  find  a  way — good  effect — cool  and  col- 
lected stuff."  So,  ruminating  and  praying  and  moving 

[163] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


ever  more  slowly,  he  reached  the  door.  Coming  in  sight 
of  his  party,  he  hurried  to  meet  them.  "Awfully  sorry !" 
he  exclaimed  excitedly.  "The  most  rotten  luck!  Old 
Maitland's  just  been  called  off." 

"Called  off!"  cried  Patricia,  in  dismay.     "Where  to!" 

"Now,  don't  jump  at  me  like  that.  Remember  my 
heart.  Met  that  Johnny — the  big  chap  dancing  with  An- 
nette, you  know — just  met  him — quite  worked  up— a 
hurry  call  for  the  girl — for  the  girl,  Annette,  you  know." 

"The  girl!"  exclaimed  Patricia.  "You  said  Captain 
Jack." 

"I  know !  I  know !"  replied  Vic,  somewhat  impatiently. 
"I  am  a  bit  excited,  I  confess.  Rather  nasty  thing — An- 
nette's brother,  you  know — something  wrong — accident, 
I  think.  Couldn't  get  the  particulars." 

"But  Annette's  brother  is  in  Toronto,"  said  Adrien, 
gravely. 

"Exactly!"  cried  Vic.  "That  is  what  I  have  been 
telling  you.  A  hurry  call — phone  message  for  Annette 
— horrible  accident.  Maitland  rushed  her  right  away  in 
his  car  to  catch  the  midnight  to  Toronto." 

"By  Jove!  That  is  too  bad,"  said  Hugh,  a  genuine 
sympathy  in  his  honest  voice.  "That  is  hard  luck  on  poor 
Annette.  Tony  is  not  exactly  a  safe  proposition,  you 
know." 

"Was  he — is  he  killed?"  cried  Patricia,  in  a  horror- 
stricken  voice. 

"Killed!  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  Vic  cheerfully.  "Slight 
injury— but  serious,  I  mean.  You  know,  just  enough  to 
cause  anxiety."  Vic  lit  another  cigarette  with  ostenta- 
tious deliberation.  "Nasty  shock,  you  know,"  he  said. 

"Who  told  you  all  this?"  inquired  Rupert. 

"Who  told  me  ?"  said  Vic.     "Why,  that  mad  Johnny." 

"Mad  Johnny?  What  mad  Johnny?" 

[164] 


THE  NIGHT  OF  VICTORY 


Vic  said  :  "Eh !  What  ?  You  know,  that — ahr — big 
chap  who  was  falling  over  her  in  the  fox  trot.  Looked 
kind  of  crazy,  you  know — big  chap — Scotch." 

"Where  is  he  now?"  enquired  Rupert. 

"Oh,  I  fancy  about  there,  somewhere,"  replied  Vic, 
remembering  that  he  had  seen  McNish  moving  toward 
the  door.  "Better  go  and  look  him  up  and  get  more 
particulars.  Might  help  some,  you  know." 

"Oh,  Adrien,  let  us  go  to  her,"  said  Patricia.  "I  am 
sure  Annette  would  love  to  have  you.  Poor  Annette!" 

"Oh!  I  say!"  interposed  Vic  hurriedly.  "There  is 
really  no  necessity.  I  shouldn't  like  to  intrude  in  family 
affairs  and  that  sort  of  thing,  you  know  what  I  mean." 

Adrien's  grave,  quiet  eyes  were  upon  Vic's  face. 

"You  think  we  had  better  not  go,  then,"  she  said 
slowly. 

"Sure  thing!"  replied  Vic,  with  cheerful  optimism. 
"There  is  no  necessity — slight  accident — no  need  to  make 
a  fuss  about  it." 

"But  you  said  it  was  a  serious  accident — a  terrible 
thing,"  said  Patricia. 

"Oh,  now,  Patricia,  come  out  of  it.  You  check  a  fel- 
low up  so  hard.  Can't  you  understand  the  Johnny  was 
so  deucedly  worked  up  over  it  he  couldn't  give  me  the 
right  of  it.  Dash  it  all!  Let's  have  another  turn, 
Patricia!" 

But  Adrien  said :  "I  think  we  will  go  home,  Hugh." 

"Very  well,  if  you  think  so,  Adrien.  I  don't  fancy 
you  need  worry  over  Annette.  The  accident  probably 
is  serious  but  not  dangerous.  Tony  is  a  tough  fellow." 

"Exactly!"  exclaimed  Vic.  "Just  as  I  have  been  tell- 
ing you.  Serious,  but  not  dangerous.  At  least,  that  was 
the  impression  I  got." 

"Oh,  Vic,  you  are  so  terribly  confusing!"  exclaimed 

[165] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


Patricia.  "Why  can't  you  get  things  straight?  I  say, 
Adrien,  we  can  ride  round  to  Annette's  on  our  way  home, 
and  then  we  will  get  things  quite  clearly." 

"Certainly,"  said  Hugh.  "It  will  only  take  us  a  min- 
ute. Eh,  what!"  he  added  to  Vic,  who  was  making 
frantic  grimaces  at  him.  "Well,  if  you  ladies  will  get 
your  things,  we  will  go." 

"But  I  am  so  disappointed,"  said  Patricia  to  Adrien, 
as  they  went  to  their  dressing  room  together. 

After  they  had  gone,  Hugh  turned  upon  Vic:  "Now 
then,  what  the  deuce  and  all  are  you  driving  at?" 

"Driving  at !"  cried  Vic,  in  an  exasperated  tone.  "You 
are  a  sweet  support  for  a  fellow  in  distress.  I  am  a 
nervous  wreck — a  perfect  mess.  Another  word  from 
that  kid  and  I  should  have  run  screaming  into  the  night. 
And  as  for  you,  why  the  deuce  didn't  you  buck  up  and 
help  a  fellow  out  ?" 

"Help  you  out?  How  in  the  name  of  all  that  is  rea- 
sonable could  I  help  you  out?  What  is  all  the  yarn 
about?  Of  course  I  know  it  isn't  true.  Where's 
Maitland?" 

"Search  me,"  said  Vic.  "All  I  know  is  that  I  hit  upon 
that  Scotch  Johnny  out  in  the  hall — he  nearly  wrenched 
an  arm  off  me  and  did  everything  but  bite — spitting  out 
incoherent  gaspings  indicating  that  Maitland  had  'gone 
awa'  wi'  his  gur-r-1,  confound  him!'  and  suggesting  the 
usual  young  Lochinvar  stuff.  You  know — nothing  in  it, 
of  course.  But  what  was  I  to  do?  Some  tale  was  nec- 
essary! Fortunately  or  unfortunately,  brother  Tony 
sprang  to  the  thing  I  call  my  mind  and — well,  you  know 
the  mess  I  made  of  it.  But  Hugh,  remember,  for 
heaven's  sake,  make  talk  about  something — about  the 
match — and  get  that  girl  quietly  home.  I  bag  the  back 
seat  and  Adrien.  It  is  hard  on  me,  I  know,  but  fifteen 
[166] 


THE  NIGHT  OF  VICTORY 


minutes  more  of  Patsy  and  I  shall  be  counting  my  tootsies 
and  prattling  nursery  rhymes.  Here  they  come,"  he 
breathed.  "Now,  'a  little  forlorn  hope,  deadly  breach  act, 
if  you  love  me,  Hardy.'  Play  up,  old  boy!" 

And  with  commendable  enthusiasm  and  success,  Hugh 
played  up,  supported — as  far  as  his  physical  and  mental 
condition  allowed — by  the  enfeebled  Vic,  till  they  had 
safely  deposited  their  charges  at  the  Rectory  door, 
whence,  refusing  an  invitation  to  stop  for  cocoa,  they 
took  their  homeward  way. 

"  'And  from  famine,  pestilence  and  sudden  death,'  and 
from  the  once-over  by  that  penetrating  young  female, 
'good  Lord,  deliver  us/  "  murmured  Vic,  falling  into  the 
seat  beside  his  friend.  "Take  me  home  to  mother,"  he 
added,  and  refused  further  speech  till  at  his  own  door. 
He  waved  a  weak  adieu  and  staggered  feebly  into  the 
house. 


[167] 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  NEW  MANAGER 

Grant  Maitland  sat  in  his  office,  plainly  disturbed  in 
his  mind.  His  resolute  face,  usually  reflecting  the  mental 
repose  which  arises  from  the  consciousness  of  a  strength 
adequate  to  any  emergency,  carried  lines  which  revealed 
a  mind  which  had  lost  its  poise.  Reports  from  his  fore- 
men indicated  brooding  trouble,  and  this  his  own  observa- 
tion within  the  last  few  weeks  confirmed.  Production 
was  noticeably  falling  low.  The  attitude  of  the  workers 
suggested  suspicion  and  discontent.  That  fine  glow  of 
comradeship  which  had  been  characteristic  of  all  workers 
in  the  Maitland  Mills  had  given  place  to  a  sullen  aloofness 
and  a  shiftiness  of  eye  that  all  too  plainly  suggested  evil 
forces  at  work. 

During  the  days  immediately  preceding  and  following 
the  Great  Match,  there  had  been  a  return  of  that  frank 
and  open  bearing  that  had  characterised  the  employees 
of  the  Maitland  Mills  in  the  old  days,  but  that  fleeting 
gleam  of  sunshine  had  faded  out  and  the  old  grey  shadow 
of  suspicion,  of  discontent,  had  fallen  again.  To  Mait- 
land this  attitude  brought  a  disappointment  and  a  re- 
sentment which  sensibly  added  to  his  burden,  already 
heavy  enough  in  these  days  of  weakening  markets  and 
falling  prices.  In  his  time  he  had  come  through  periods 
of  financial  depression.  He  was  prepared  for  one  such 
period  now,  but  he  had  never  passed  through  the  unhappy 
experience  of  a  conflict  with  his  own  employees.  Not 
that  he  had  ever  feared  a  fight,  but  he  shrank  from  a 
[168] 


THE  NEW  MANAGER 


fight  with  his  own  men.  It  humiliated  him.  He  felt  it 
to  be  a  reflection  upon  his  system  of  management,  upon 
his  ability  to  lead  and  control,  indeed,  upon  his  personality. 
But,  more  than  all,  it  grieved  him  to  feel  that  he  had  lost 
that  sense  of  comradeship  which  for  forty  years  he  had 
been  able  to  preserve  with  those  who  toiled  with  him  in  a 
common  enterprise. 

A  sense  of  loneliness  fell  upon  him.  Like  many  a 
man,  self-made  and  self -sufficing,  he  craved  companion- 
ship which  his  characteristic  qualities  of  independence  and 
strength  seemed  to  render  unnecessary  and  undesired. 
The  experience  of  all  leaders  of  men  was  his,  for  the 
leader  is  ever  a  lonely  man. 

This  morning  the  reports  he  had  just  received  con- 
vinced him  that  a  strike  with  his  workers  would  not  long 
be  delayed.  "If  I  only  knew  what  they  really  wanted," 
he  bitterly  mused.  "It  cannot  be  wages.  Their  wages  are 
two  or  three  times  what  they  were  before  the  war — 
shop  conditions  are  all  that  could  be  desired — the  Lord 
knows  I  have  spent  enough  in  this  welfare  stuff  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing  during  these  hard  times.  I  have  heard 
of  no  real  grievances.  I  am  sick  of  it  all.  I  guess  I  am 
growing  too  old  for  this  sort  of  thing." 

There  was  a  tap  at  the  door  and  his  son  appeared, 
with  a  cheery  greeting. 

"Come  in,  Jack,"  said  his  father,  "I  believe  you  are 
the  very  man  I  want." 

"Hello,  Dad.    You  look  as  if  you  were  in  trouble." 

"Well,"  replied  his  father  with  a  keen  look  at  him,  "I 
think  I  may  return  the  compliment." 

"Well,  yes,  but  perhaps  I  should  not  bother  you.  You 
have  all  you  can  carry." 

"All  I  can  carry,"  echoed  Maitland,  picking  up  the 
reports  from  his  desk  and  handing  them  to  his  son,  who 

[169] 


glanced  over  them.  "Things  are  not  going  well  at  the 
mills.  No,  you  needn't  tell  me.  You  know  I  never  ask 
you  for  any  confidences  about  your  brother  unionists." 

"Right  you  are,  Dad.  You  have  always  played  the 
game." 

"Well,  I  must  confess  this  is  beyond  me.  Everywhere 
on  the  men's  faces  I  catch  that  beastly  look  of  distrust 
and  suspicion.  I  hate  to  work  with  men  like  that.  And 
very  obviously,  trouble  is  brewing,  but  what  it  is,  frankly, 
it  is  beyond  me  to  know." 

"Well,  it  is  hardly  a  secret  any  longer,"  said  Jack. 
"Trouble  is  coming,  Dad,  though  what  form  it  shall  take 
I  am  not  in  a  position  to  say.  Union  discipline  is  a 
fierce  thing.  The  rank  and  file  are  not  taken  into  the 
confidence  of  the  leaders.  Policies  are  decided  upon  in  the 
secret  councils  of  the  Great  Ones  and  handed  down  to 
us  to  adopt.  Of  course,  it  is  open  to  any  man  to  criti- 
cise, and  I  am  bound  to  say  that  the  rankers  exercise  that 
privilege  with  considerable  zest.  All  the  same,  however, 
it  is  difficult  to  overturn  an  administration,  hard  to  upset 
established  order.  The  thing  that  is,  is  the  thing  that 
ought  to  be.  Rejection  of  an  administration  policy  de- 
mands revolution." 

"Well,"  said  his  father,  taking  the  sheets  from  Jack's 
hand,  "we  needn't  go  to  meet  the  trouble.  Now,  let  us 
have  yours.  What  is  your  particular  grief?" 

"Tony,"  said  Jack  shortly. 

"Tony?"  echoed  his  father  in  dismay.  "Heaven  help 
us !  And  what  now  has  come  to  Tony  ?  Though  I  must 
confess  I  have  been  expecting  this  for  some  time.  It  had 
to  come." 

"It  is  a  long  story,  Dad,  and  I  shan't  worry  you  with 
the  details.  As  you  know,  after  leaving  us,  Tony  went 
from  one  job  to  another  with  the  curve  steadily  down- 
[170] 


THE  NEW  MANAGER 


wards.  For  the  last  few  months,  I  gather,  he  has  been 
living  on  his  wits,  helped  out  by  generous  contributions 
from  his  sister's  wages.  Finally  he  was  given  a  subor- 
dinate position  under  "The  Great  War  Veterans"  who 
have  really  been  very  decent  to  him.  This  position  in- 
volved the  handling  of  funds — no  great  amount.  Then 
it  was  the  old  story — gambling  and  drinking — the  loss 
of  all  control — desperate  straits — hoping  to  recoup  his 
losses — and  you  know  the  rest." 

"Embezzlement?"  asked  Maitland. 

"Yes,  embezzlement,"  said  Jack.  "Tony  is  not  a  thief. 
He  didn't  deliberately  steal,  you  understand." 

"Jack,"  said  his  father,  sharply,  "get  that  out  of  your 
head.  There  is  no  such  distinction  in  law  or  in  fact. 
Stealing  is  stealing,  whatever  the  motive  behind  it,  what- 
ever the  plan  governing  it,  by  whatever  name  called." 

"I  didn't  really  mean  anything  else,  Dad.  Tony  did 
the  thing,  at  any  rate,  and  the  cops  were  on  his  trail.  He 
got  into  hiding,  sent  an  S.  O.  S.  to  his  sister.  Annette, 
driven  to  desperation,  came  to  me  with  her  story  the  night 
of  the  Match.  She  was  awfully  cut  up,  poor  girl.  I  had 
to  leave  the  dance  and  go  right  off  to  Toronto.  Too  late 
for  the  train,  I  drove  straight  through, — ghastly  roads, — 
found  Tony,  fetched  him  back,  and  up  till  yesterday  he 
has  been  hiding  in  his  own  home.  Meantime,  I  managed 
to  get  things  fixed  up — paid  his  debts,  the  prosecution  is 
withdrawn  and  now  he  wants, — or,  rather,  he  doesn't 
want  but  needs,  a  job." 

Maitland  listened  with  a  grave  face.  "Then  the  little 
girl  was  right,  after  all,"  he  said. 

"Meaning?" 

"Patricia,"  said  his  father.  "She  told  me  a  long  story 
of  a  terrible  accident  to  Tony  that  had  called  you  away 
to  Toronto.  I  must  say  it  was  rather  incoherent." 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


"But  who  told  her?  I  swear  not  a  soul  knew  but  his 
people  and  myself,"  said  Jack. 

"Strange  how  things  get  out,"  said  his  father.  "Well, 
where  is  Tony  now?" 

"Here,  in  the  outer  office." 

"But,"  said  Maitland,  desperately,  "where  can  we  place 
him?  He  is  impossible  in  any  position — dangerous  in 
the  office,  useless  as  a  foreman,  doubtful  and  uncertain 
as  a  workman." 

"One  thing  is  quite  certain,"  said  Jack  decidedly,  "he 
must  be  under  discipline.  He  is  useless  on  his  own.  I 
thought  that  perhaps  he  might  work  beside  me.  I  could 
keep  an  eye  on  him.  Tony  has  nothing  in  him  to  work 
with.  I  should  like  to  hear  old  Matheson  on  him — the 
Reverend  Murdo,  I  mean.  That  is  a  great  theme  of  his — 
'To  the  man  who  has  nothing  you  can  give  nothing.' ' 

"Matheson?"  said  Maitland.  "A  chum  of  yours,  I 
understand.  Radical,  eh?" 

"A  very  decent  sort,  father,"  replied  Jack.  "I  have 
been  doing  a  little  economics  with  him  during  the  winter. 
His  radicalism  is  of  a  sound  type,  I  think.  He  is  a  regu- 
lar bear  at  economics  and  he  is  even  better  at  the  human- 
ity business,  the  brother-man  stuff.  He  is  really  sound 
there." 

"I  can  guess  what  you  mean,"  said  his  father,  "though 
I  don't  quite  catch  on  to  all  your  jargon.  But  I  confess 
that  I  suspect  there  is  a  whole  lot  of  nonsense  associated 
with  these  theories." 

"You  will  pardon  me,  Dad,"  said  Jack,  "if  I  suggest 
that  your  education  is  really  not  yet  complete." 

"Whose  is?"  inquired  his  father,  curtly. 

"But  about  Tony,"  continued  Jack,  "I  wish  I  had  him 
in  a  gang  under  me.  I  would  work  him,  or  break  his 
neck." 


THE  NEW  MANAGER 


His  father  sat  silently  pondering  for  some  minutes. 
Then,  as  if  making  a  sudden  resolve,  he  said:  "Jack,  I 
have  been  wanting  to  speak  with  you  about  something  for 
some  weeks.  I  have  come  to  a  place  where  it  is  impera- 
tive that  I  get  some  relief  from  my  load.  You  see,  I 
am  carrying  the  whole  burden  of  management  practically 
alone.  I  look  after  the  financing,  the  markets,  I  keep  an 
eye  on  production  and  even  upon  the  factory  manage- 
ment. In  normal  conditions  I  could  manage  to  get  along, 
but  in  these  critical  days,  when  every  department  calls  for 
close,  constant  and  sane  supervision,  I  feel  that  I  must 
have  relief.  If  I  could  be  relieved  of  the  job  of  shop 
management,  I  could  give  myself  to  the  other  depart- 
ments where  the  situation  at  present  is  extremely  criti- 
cal. I  want  a  manager,  Jack.  Why  not  take  the  job? 
Now,"  he  continued,  holding  up  his  hand,  as  his  son  was 
about  to  speak,  "listen  for  a  moment  or  two.  I  have  said 
the  situation  is  serious.  Let  me  explain  that.  The  financ- 
ing of  this  business  in  the  present  crisis  requires  a  man's 
full  time  and  energy.  Markets,  credits,  collections,  all 
demand  the  very  closest  attention." 

Jack  glanced  at  his  father's  face.  For  the  first  time  he 
noticed  how  deep-cut  were  the  lines  that  indicated  care, 
anxiety  and  worry.  A  sudden  remorse  seized  him. 

"I  am  awfully  sorry,  sir,"  he  said,  "I  have  not  been 
of  much  help  to  you." 

Maitland  waved  his  hand  as  if  dismissing  the  sugges- 
tion. "Now  you  know  nothing  of  the  financial  side,  but 
you  do  know  men  and  you  can  handle  them.  You  proved 
that  in  the  war,  and,  in  another  way,  you  proved  that 
during  this  recent  athletic  contest.  I  followed  that  very 
closely  and  I  say  without  hesitation  that  it  was  a  remark- 
ably fine  bit  of  work  and  the  reactions  were  of  the  best. 
Jack,  I  believe  that  you  would  make  a  great  manager  if 

[173] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


you  gave  yourself  to  it,  and  thought  it  worth  while.  Now, 
listen  to  me."  Thereupon  the  father  proceeded  to  lay 
before  his  son  the  immediately  pressing  problems  in  the 
business — the  financial  obligations  already  assumed,  the 
heavy  accumulation  of  stock  for  which  there  were  no 
markets,  the  increasing  costs  in  production  with  no  hope 
of  relief,  but  rather  every  expectation  of  added  burdens 
in  this  direction. 

As  he  listened  to  his  father,  Jack  was  appalled  with 
what  he  considered  the  overwhelmingly  disastrous  sit- 
uation in  which  the  business  was  placed.  At  the  same 
time  he  saw  his  father  in  a  new  light.  This  silent,  stern, 
reserved  man  assumed  a  role  of  hero  in  his  eyes,  facing 
desperate  odds  and  silently  fighting  a  lonely  and  doubtful 
battle.  The  son  was  smitten  with  a  sense  of  his  own 
futility.  In  him  was  born  a  desire  and  a  resolve  to  stand 
beside  his  father  in  this  conflict  and  if  the  battle  went 
against  them,  to  share  in  the  defeat. 

"Dad,"  cried  his  son  impulsively,  "I  am  a  rotter.  I 
have  been  of  no  help  to  you,  but  only  a  burden.  I  had 
no  idea  the  situation  was  so  serious."  Remorse  and 
alarm  showed  in  his  tone. 

"Don't  misunderstand  me,"  said  his  father.  "This  is 
new  to  you  and  appears  more  serious  than  it  is.  There 
is  really  no  ground,  or  little  ground,  for  anxiety  or  alarm. 
Let  me  give  you  the  other  side."  Then  he  proceeded  to 
set  forth  the  resources  of  the  business,  the  extent  of  his 
credit,  his  plans  to  meet  the  present  situation  and  to  pre- 
pare for  possible  emergencies.  "We  are  not  at  the  wall 
yet,  by  any  means,  Jack,"  he  said,  his  voice  ringing  out 
with  a  resolute  courage.  "But  I  am  bound  to  say  that 
if  any  sudden  or  untoward  combination  of  circumstances, 
a  strike,  for  instance,  should  arise,  disaster  might  follow." 

Jack's  heart  sank  still  lower.  He  was  practically  cer- 
[174] 


THE  NEW  MANAGER 


tain  that  a  strike  was  imminent.  Although  without  any 
official  confirmation  of  his  suspicions,  he  had  kept  his  eyes 
and  ears  opened  and  he  was  convinced  that  trouble  was 
unavoidable.  As  his  father  continued  to  set  forth  his 
plans,  his  admiration  for  him  grew.  He  brought  to  bear 
upon  the  problems  with  which  he  was  grappling  a  clear 
head,  wide  knowledge  and  steady  courage.  He  was  a 
general,  planning  a  campaign  in  the  face  of  serious  odds. 
He  recalled  a  saying  of  his  old  Commander-in-Chief  in 
France:  "War  is  a  business  and  will  be  won  by  the  ap- 
plication of  business  principles  and  business  methods. 
Given  a  body  of  fighting  men  such  as  I  command,  the 
thing  becomes  a  problem  of  transportation,  organization, 
reserve,  insurance.  War  is  a  business  and  will  be  won  by 
fighting  men  directed  or  governed  by  business  principles." 
He  was  filled  with  regret  that  he  had  not  given  himself 
more  during  these  last  months  to  the  study  of  these  prin- 
ciples. The  prospect  of  a  fight  against  impending  dis- 
aster touched  his  imagination  and  stimulated  him  like  a 
bugle  call. 

"I  see  what  you  want,  father,"  he  said.  "You  want  to 
have  some  good  N.  C.  O.'s.  The  N.  C.  O.  is  the  back- 
bone of  the  army,"  he  quoted  with  a  grin. 

"N.  C.  O  ?"  echoed  his  father.  He  was  not  sufficiently 
versed  in  military  affairs  to  catch  the  full  meaning  of 
the  army  rag. 

"What  I  mean  is,"  said  Jack,  "that  no  matter  how  able 
a  military  commander  is,  he  must  have  efficient  subor- 
dinates to  carry  on.  No  Colonel  can  do  his  own  com- 
pany and  platoon  work." 

His  father  nodded:  "You've  got  it,  Jack.  I  want 
a  manager  to  whom  I  can  entrust  a  policy  without  ever 
having  to  think  of  it  again.  I  don't  want  a  man  who 
gets  on  top  of  the  load,  but  one  who  gets  under  it." 

[175] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


"You  want  a  good  adjutant,  father,  and  a  sergeant- 
major." 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  the  father,  "although  your  military 
terms  are  a  little  beyond  me.  After  all,  the  thing  is  sim- 
ple enough.  On  the  management  side,  we  want  increase 
in  production,  which  means  decrease  in  production  costs, 
and  this  means  better  organization  of  the  work  and  the 
workers." 

Jack  nodded  and  after  a  moment,  said:  "May  I  add, 
sir,  one  thing  more  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  his  father. 

"Team  play,"  said  Jack.  "That  is  my  specialty,  you 
know.  Individualism  in  a  game  may  be  spectacularly  at- 
tractive, but  it  doesn't  get  the  goal." 

"Team  play,"  said  his  father.  "Co-operation,  I  sup- 
pose you  mean.  My  dear  boy,  this  is  no  time  for  ex- 
perimentation in  profit-sharing  schemes,  if  that  is  what 
you  are  after.  Anyway,  the  history  of  profiteering 
schemes  as  I  have  read  it  is  not  such  as  to  warrant  entire 
confidence  in  their  soundness.  You  cannot  change  the 
economic  system  overnight." 

"That  is  true  enough,  Dad,"  said  his  son,  "and  perhaps 
I  am  a  fool.  But  I  remember,  and  you  remember,  what 
everybody  said,  and  especially  what  the  experts  said, 
about  the  military  methods  and  tactics  before  the  war. 
You  say  you  cannot  change  the  economic  system  over- 
night, and  yet  the  whole  military  system  was  changed 
practically  overnight.  In  almost  every  particular,  there 
was  a  complete  revolution.  Cavalry,  fortress  defences, 
high  explosives,  the  proper  place  for  machine  guns,  field 
tactics,  in  fact,  the  whole  business  was  radically  changed. 
And  if  we  hadn't  changed,  they  would  be  speaking  Ger- 
man in  the  schools  of  England,  like  enough,  by  this  time." 

"Jack,  you  may  be  right,"  said  his  father,  with  a  touch 
[176] 


THE  NEW  MANAGER 


of  impatience,  "but  I  don't  want  to  be  worried  just  now. 
It  is  easy  enough  for  your  friend,  Matheson,  and  other 
academic  industrial  directors,  to  suggest  experiments 
with  other  people's  money.  If  we  could  only  get  produc- 
tion, I  would  not  mind  very  much  what  wages  we  had 
to  pay.  But  I  confess  when  industrial  strife  is  added  to 
my  other  burdens,  it  is  almost  more  than  I  can  bear." 

"I  am  awfully  sorry,  Dad,"  replied  his  son.  "I  have 
no  wish  to  worry  you,  but  how  are  you  going  to  get  pro- 
duction? Everybody  says  it  has  fallen  off  terribly  dur- 
ing and  since  the  war.  How  are  you  going  to  bring  it 
up?  Not  by  the  pay  envelope,  I  venture  to  say,  and  that 
is  why  I  suggested  team  play.  And  I  am  not  thinking 
about  co-operative  schemes  of  management,  either.  Some 
way  must  be  found  to  interest  the  fellows  in  their  job, 
in  the  work  itself,  as  distinct  from  the  financial  returns. 
Unless  the  chaps  are  interested  in  the  game,  they  won't 
get  the  goals." 

"My  boy,"  said  his  father  wearily,  "that  old  interest 
in  work  is  gone.  That  old  pride  in  work  which  we  used 
to  feel  when  I  was  at  the  job  myself,  is  gone.  We  have 
a  different  kind  of  workman  nowadays." 

"Dad,  don't  believe  that,"  said  Jack.  "Remember  the 
same  thing  was  said  before  the  war.  We  used  to  hear  all 
about  that  decadent  race  stuff.  The  war  proved  it  to  be 
all  rot.  The  race  is  as  fine  as  ever  it  was.  Our  history 
never  produced  finer  fighting  men." 

"You  may  be  right,"  said  his  father.  "If  we  could 
only  get  rid  of  these  cursed  agitators." 

"There  again,  Dad,  if  you  will  excuse  me,  I  believe 
you  are  mistaken.  I  have  been  working  with  these  men 
for  the  last  nine  months,  I  have  attended  very  regularly 
the  meetings  of  their  unions  and  I  have  studied  the  whole 
situation  with  great  care.  The  union  is  a  great  institu- 

[177] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


tion.  I  am  for  it  heart  and  soul.  It  is  soundly  and  solidly 
democratic,  and  the  agitators  cut  very  little  figure.  I 
size  up  the  whole  lot  about  this  way:  Fifty  per  cent,  of 
the  men  are  steady-going  fellows  with  ambition  to  climb; 
twenty-five  per  cent  are  content  to  grub  along  for  the 
day's  pay  and  with  no  great  ambition  worrying  them. 
Of  the  remainder,  ten  per  cent  are  sincere  and  convinced 
reformers,  more  or  less  half-baked  intellectuals;  ten  per 
cent  love  the  sound  of  their  own  voices,  hate  work  and 
want  to  live  by  their  jaw,  five  per  cent  only  are  unscrupu- 
lous and  selfish  agitators.  But,  Dad,  believe  me,  fire- 
brands may  light  fires,  but  solid  fagots  only  can  keep 
fires  going.  You  cannot  make  conflagrations  out  of 
torches  alone." 

"That  is  Matheson,  I  suppose,"  said  his  father,  smiling 
at  him. 

"Well,  I  own  up.  I  have  got  a  lot  of  stuff  from  Mathe- 
son. All  the  same  I  believe  I  have  fairly  sized  up  the 
labour  situation." 

"Boy,  boy,"  said  his  father,  "I  am  tired  of  it  all.  I 
believe  with  some  team  play  you  and  I  could  make  it  go. 
Alone,  I  am  not  so  sure.  Will  you  take  the  job?" 

There  was  silence  between  them  for  a  few  minutes, 
Then  Jack  answered  slowly :  "I  am  not  sure  of  myself  at 
all,  Dad,  but  I  can  see  you  must  have  someone  and  I  am 
willing  to  try  the  planing  mill." 

"Thank  you,  boy,"  said  his  father,  stretching  his  hand 
quickly  across  the  table,  "I  will  back  you  up  and  won't 
worry  you.  Within  reasonable  limits  I  will  give  you  a 
free  hand." 

"I  know  you  will,  Dad,"  said  Jack,  "and  of  course  I 
have  been  in  the  army  long  enough  to  know  the  difference 
between  the  O.  C.  and  the  sergeant-major." 

"Now,  what  about  Tony?"  inquired  Maitland,  revert- 
[178] 


THE  NEW  MANAGER 


ing  suddenly  to  what  both  felt  to  be  a  painful  and  per- 
plexing problem.  "What  are  we  to  do  with  him?" 

"I  will  take  him  on,"  said  Jack.    "I  suppose  I  must." 

"He  will  be  a.heavy  handicap  to  you,  boy.  Is  there  no 
other  way?" 

"I  see  no  other  way,"  Jack  replied.  "I  will  give  him  a 
trial.  Shall  I  bring  him  in?" 

"Bring  him  in." 

In  a  minute  or  two  Jack  returned  with  Tony.  As 
Maitland's  eyes  fell  upon  him,  he  could  not  prevent  a 
start  of  shocked  surprise. 

"Why,  Tony!"  he  exclaimed.  "What  in  all  the  world 
is  wrong  with  you?  You  are  ill."  Trembling,  pale,  ob- 
viously unstrung,  Tony  stood  before  him,  his  shifty  eyes 
darting  now  at  one  face,  then  at  the  other,  his  hands  rest- 
less, his  whole  appearance  suggesting  an  imminent  nerv- 
ous collapse.  "Why,  Tony,  boy,  what  is  wrong  with 
you?"  repeated  Maitland.  The  kindly  tone  proved  too 
much  for  Tony's  self-control.  He  gulped,  choked,  and 
stood  speechless,  his  eyes  cast  down  to  the  floor. 

"Sit  down,  Tony,"  said  Maitland.  "Give  him  a  chair, 
Jack." 

But  Jack  said,  "He  doesn't  need  a  chair.  He  is  not 
here  for  a  visit.  You  wanted  to  say  something  to  him, 
did  you  not?"  Jack's  dry,  matter-of-fact  and  slightly 
contemptuous  tone  had  an  instant  and  extraordinary  ef- 
fect upon  the  wretched  man  beside  him. 

Instantly,  Tony  stiffened  up.  His  head  went  back,  he 
cast  a  swift  glance  at  Jack's  face,  whose  smile,  slightly 
quizzical,  slightly  contemptuous,  appeared  to  bite  into  his 
vitals.  A  hot  flame  of  colour  swept  his  pale  and  pasty 
face. 

"I  want  a  job,  sir,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  low  and  fierce, 
looking  straight  at  Mr.  Maitland. 

[179] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


Maitland,  taking  his  cue  from  his  son,  replied  in  a  quiet 
voice:  "Can  you  hold  a  job?" 

"God  knows,"  said  Tony. 

"He  does,"  replied  Maitland,  "but  what  about  you?" 

Tony  stood  for  a  few  moments  saying  nothing,  dart- 
ing uncertain  glances  now  and  then  at  Jack,  on  whose 
face  still  lingered  the  smile  which  Tony  found  so  dis- 
turbing. 

"If  you  want  work,"  continued  Mr.  Maitland,  "and 
want  to  make  it  go,  Tony,  you  can  go  with  Jack.  He 
will  give  it  to  you." 

"Jack !"  exclaimed  Tony.  His  face  was  a  study.  Un- 
certainty, fear,  hope,  disappointment  were  all  there. 

"Yes,  Jack,"  said  Mr.  Maitland.  "He  is  manager  in 
these  works  now." 

Tony  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed.  "I  guess  I 
will  have  to  work,  then,"  he  said. 

"You  just  bet  you  will,  Tony,"  replied  Jack.  "Come 
along,  we  will  go." 

"Where?" 

"I  am  taking  you  home.  See  you  to-night,  sir,"  Jack 
added,  nodding  to  his  father. 

The  two  young  men  passed  out  together  to  the  car. 

"Yes,  Tony,"  said  Jack,  "I  have  taken  over  your  job." 

"My  job?  What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  asked  Tony, 
bitter  and  sullen  in  face  and  tone. 

"I  am  the  new  manager  of  the  planing  mill.  Dad  had 
you  slated  for  that  position,  but  you  hadn't  manager- 
timber  in  you." 

Tony's  answer  was  an  oath,  deep  and  heartfelt. 

"Yes,"  continued  Jack,  "manager-timber  is  rare  and 
slow-growing  stuff,  Tony." 

Again  Tony  swore  but  kept  silence,  and  so  remained 
till  they  had  reached  his  home.  Together  they  walked 
[180] 


THE  NEW  MANAGER 


into  the  living  room.  There  they  found  Annette,  and 
with  her  McNish.  Both  rose  upon  their  entrance,  Mc- 
Nish  showing  some  slight  confusion,  and  assuming  the 
attitude  of  a  bulldog  on  guard,  Annette  vividly  eager,  ex- 
pectant, anxious. 

"Well,"  she  cried,  her  hands  going  fluttering  to  her 
bosom. 

"I  have  got  a  job,  Annette,"  said  Tony,  with  a  short 
laugh.  "Here  is  my  boss." 

For  a  moment  the  others  stood  looking  at  Jack,  sur- 
prised into  motionless  silence. 

"I  tell  you,  he  is  the  new  manager,"  repeated  Tony, 
"and  he  is  my  boss." 

"What  does  he  mean,  Jack?"  cried  the  girl,  coming 
forward  to  Maitland  with  a  quick,  impulsive  movement. 

"Just  what  he  says,  Annette.  I  am  the  new  manager 
of  the  planing  mill  and  I  have  given  Tony  a  job." 

Again  there  fell  a  silence.  Into  the  eyes  of  the  bull- 
dog McNish  there  shot  a  strange  gleam  of  something 
that  seemed  almost  like  pleasure.  In  those  brief  mo- 
ments of  silence  life  was  readjusting  itself  with  them  all. 
Maitland  had  passed  from  the  rank  and  file  of  the  work- 
ers into  the  class  of  those  who  direct  and  control  their 
work.  Bred  as  they  were  and  trained  as  they  were  in  the 
democratic  atmosphere  of  Canada,  they  were  immediately 
conscious  of  the  shifting  of  values. 

Annette  was  the  first  to  break  silence.  "I  wish  I  could 
thank  you,"  she  said,  "but  I  cannot.  I  cannot."  The 
girl's  face  had  changed.  The  eager  light  had  faded 
from  her  dark  eyes,  her  hands  dropped  quietly  to  her 
side.  "But  I  am  sure  you  know,"  she  added  after  a 
pause,  "how  very,  very  grateful  I  am,  how  grateful  we 
all  are,  Mr.  Maitland." 

"Annette,"  said  Jack  severely,  "drop  that  'Mr.'  stuff. 

[181] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


I  was  your  friend  yesterday.  Am  I  any  less  your  friend 
to-day?  True  enough,  I  am  Tony's  boss,  but  Tony  is 
my  friend — that  is,  if  he  wants  to  have  it  so.  You  must 
believe  this,  Annette." 

He  offered  her  his  hand.  With  a  sudden  impulse  she 
took  it  in  both  of  hers  and  held  it  hard  against  her  breast, 
her  eyes  meanwhile  burning  into  his  with  a  look  of  adora- 
tion, open  and  unashamed.  She  apparently  forgot  the 
others  in  the  room. 

"Jack,"  she  cried,  her  voice  thrilling  with  passion,  "I 
don't  care  what  you  are.  I  don't  care  what  you  think. 
I  will  never,  never  forget  what  you  have  done  for  me." 

Maitland  flung  a  swift  glance  at  McNish  and  was 
startled  at  the  look  of  rage,  of  agonised  rage,  that  con- 
vulsed his  face. 

"My  dear  Annette,"  he  said,  with  a  light  laugh,  "don't 
make  too  much  of  it.  I  was  glad  to  help  Tony  and  you. 
Why  shouldn't  I  help  old  friends?" 

As  he  was  speaking  they  heard  the  sound  of  a  door 
closing  and  looking  about,  Jack  found  that  McNish  had 
gone,  to  be  followed  by  Tony  a  moment  or  two  later. 

"Oh,  never  mind  him,"  cried  Annette,  answering  Jack's 
look  of  surprise.  "He  has  to  go  to  work.  And  it  doesn't 
matter  in  the  least." 

Jack  was  vaguely  disturbed  by  McNish's  sudden  disap- 
pearance. 

"But,  Annette,"  he  said,  "I  don't  want  McNish  to  think 
that  I — that  you " 

"What?"  She  leaned  toward  him,  her  face  all  glowing 
with  warm  and  eager  light,  her  eyes  aflame,  her  bosom 
heaving.  "What,  Jack?"  she  whispered.  "What  does 
it  matter  what  he  thinks?" 

He  put  out  his  hands.  With  a  quick,  light  step  she 
was  close  to  him,  her  face  lifted  up  in  passionate  sur- 
[182] 


THE  NEW  MANAGER 


render.  Swiftly  Jack's  arms  went  around  her  and  he 
drew  her  toward  him. 

"Annette,  dear,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  was  quiet  and 
kind,  too  kind.  "You  are  a  dear  girl  and  a  good  girl, 
and  I  am  glad  to  have  helped  you  and  shall  always  be 
glad  to  help  you." 

The  door  opened  and  Tony  slipped  into  the  room. 
With  passionate  violence,  Annette  threw  away  the  en- 
circling arms. 

"Ah!"  she  cried,  a  sob  catching  her  voice.  "You — you 
shame  me.  No — I  shame  myself."  Rigid,  with  head 
flung  back,  she  stood  before  him,  her  eyes  ablaze  with 
passionate  anger,  her  hands  clenched  tight.  She  had 
flung  herself  at  him  and  had  been  rejected. 

"What  the  devil  is  this?"  cried  Tony,  striding  toward 
them.  "What  is  he  doing  to  you,  Annette?" 

"He?"  cried  Annette,  her  breath  coming  in  sobs.  "To 
me?  Nothing!  Keep  out  of  it,  Tony."  She  pushed  him 
fiercely  aside.  "He  has  done  nothing!  No!  No! 
Nothing  but  what  is  good  and  kind.  Ah!  kind.  Yes, 
kind."  Her  voice  rose  shrill  in  scorn  of  herself  and  of 
him.  "Oh,  yes,  he  is  kind."  She  laughed  wildly,  then 
broke  into  passionate  tears.  She  turned  from  them  and 
fled  to  her  room,  leaving  the  two  men  looking  at  each 
other. 

"Poor  child,"  said  Jack,  the  first  to  recover  speech. 
"She  is  quite  all  in.  She  has  had  two  hard  weeks  of  it." 

"Two  hard  weeks,"  repeated  Tony,  his  eyes  glaring, 
"What  is  the  matter  with  my  sister?  What  have  you 
done  to  her?"  His  voice  was  like  the  growl  of  a  savage 
dog. 

"Don't  be  a  confounded  fool,  Tony,"  replied  Jack. 
"You  ought  to  know  what  is  the  matter  with  your  sister. 
You  have  had  something  to  do  with  it.  And  now  your 

[183] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


job  is  to  see  if  you  can  make  it  up  to  her.  To-morrow 
morning,  at  seven  o'clock,  remember,"  he  said  curtly,  and, 
turning  on  his  heel,  he  passed  out. 

It  seemed  to  Jack  as  he  drove  home  that  life  had  sud- 
denly become  a  tangle  of  perplexities  and  complications. 
First  there  was  Annette.  He  was  genuinely  distressed  as 
he  thought  of  the  scene  through  which  they  had  just 
passed.  That  he  himself  had  anything  to  do  with  her 
state  of  mind  did  not  occur  to  him. 

"Poor  little  girl,"  he  said  to  himself,  "she  really  needs 
a  change  of  some  sort,  a  complete  rest.  We  must  find 
some  way  of  helping  her.  She  will  be  all  right  in  a  day 
or  two."  With  which  he  dismissed  the  subject. 

Then  there  was  McNish.  McNish  was  a  sore  puzzle 
to  him.  He  had  come  to  regard  the  Scotchman  with  a 
feeling  of  sincere  friendliness.  He  remembered  grate- 
fully his  ready  and  efficient  help  against  the  attacks  of 
the  radical  element  among  his  fellow  workmen.  On  sev- 
eral occasions  he,  with  the  Reverend  Murdo  Matheson, 
had  foregathered  in  the  McNish  home  to  discuss  eco- 
nomic problems  over  a  quiet  pipe.  He  was  always  con- 
scious of  a  reserve  deepening  at  times  to  a  sullenness  in 
McNish' s  manner,  the  cause  of  which  he  could  not  cer- 
tainly discover.  That  McNish  was  possessed  of  a  men- 
tality of  more  than  ordinary  power  there  was  no  manner 
of  doubt.  Jack  had  often  listened  with  amazement  to  his 
argumentation  with  the  Reverend  Murdo,  against  whom 
he  proved  over  and  over  again  his  ability  to  hold  his  own, 
the  minister's  superiority  as  a  trained  logician  being  more 
than  counterbalanced  by  his  antagonist's  practical  ex- 
perience. 

As  he  thought  of  these  evenings,  he  was  ready  to  believe 
that  his  suspicion  of  the  Scotchman's  ill-will  toward  him- 
self was  due  largely  to  imagination,  and  yet  he  could  not 
[184] 


THE  NEW  MANAGER 


rid  himself  of  the  unpleasant  memory  of  McNish's  con- 
vulsed face  that  afternoon. 

<fWhat  the  deuce  is  the  matter  with  the  beggar,  any- 
way?" he  said  to  himself. 

Suddenly  a  new  suggestion  came  to  him. 

"It  can't  be,"  he  added,  "surely  the  idiot  is  not  jealous." 
Then  he  remembered  Annette's  attitude  at  the  moment, 
her  hands  pressing  his  hard  to  her  breast,  her  face  lifted 
up  in  something  more  than  appeal.  "By  Jove !  I  believe 
that  may  be  it,"  he  mused.  "And  Annette?  Had  she 
observed  it?  What  was  in  her  heart?  Was  there  a  rea- 
son for  the  Scotchman's  jealousy  on  that  side?" 

This  thought  disturbed  him  greatly.  He  was  not  pos- 
sessed of  a  larger  measure  of  self-conceit  than  falls  to 
the  lot  of  the  average  young  man,  but  the  thought  that 
possibly  Annette  had  come  to  regard  him  other  than  as  a 
friend  released  a  new  tide  of  emotion  within  him.  Rap- 
idly he  passed  in  review  many  incidents  in  their  associa- 
tion during  the  months  since  he  returned  from  the  war, 
and  gradually  the  conviction  forced  itself  upon  him  that 
possibly  McNish  was  not  without  some  cause  for  jeal- 
ousy. It  was  rotten  luck  and  was  bound  to  interfere  with 
their  present  happy  relations.  Yet  none  the  less  was  he 
conscious  that  it  was  not  altogether  an  unpleasant  thought 
to  him  that  in  some  subtle  way  a  new  bond  had  been 
established  between  this  charming  young  girl  and  himself. 

But  he  must  straighten  things  out  with  McNish  at  the 
very  first  opportunity.  He  was  a  decent  chap  and  would 
make  Annette  a  first-rate  husband.  Indeed,  it  pleased 
Jack  not  a  little  to  feel  that  he  would  be  able  to  further 
the  fortunes  of  both.  McNish  had  good  foreman  timber 
in  him  and  would  make  a  capable  assistant.  As  to  this 
silly  prejudice  of  his,  Jack  resolved  that  he  would  take 

[185] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


steps  immediately  to  have  that  removed.  That  he  could 
accomplish  this  he  had  little  doubt. 

But  the  most  acutely  pressing  of  the  problems  that  en- 
gaged his  mind  were  those  that  arose  out  of  his  new 
position  as  manager.  The  mere  organizing  and  directing 
of  men  in  their  work  gave  him  little  anxiety.  He  was 
sure  of  himself  as  far  as  that  was  concerned.  He  was 
sure  of  his  ability  to  introduce  among  the  men  a  system 
of  team  play  that  would  result  in  increased  production 
and  would  induce  altogether  better  results.  He  thought 
he  knew  where  the  weak  spots  were.  He  counted  great- 
ly upon  the  support  of  the  men  who  had  been  associated 
with  him  in  the  Maitland  Mills  Athletic  Association. 
With  their  backing,  he  was  certain  that  he  could  eliminate 
most  of  that  very  considerable  wastage  in  time  that  even 
a  cursory  observation  had  revealed  to  him  in  the  shops, 
due  to  such  causes  as  dilatory  workers,  idle  machines,  lack 
of  co-ordination,  improper  routing  of  work,  and  the 
like.  He  had  the  suspicion  that  a  little  investigation 
would  reveal  other  causes  of  wastage  as  well. 

There  was  one  feature  in  the  situation  that  gave  him 
concern  and  that  was  the  radical  element  in  the  unions. 
Simmons  and  his  gang  had  from  the  very  first  assumed 
an  attitude  of  hostility  to  himself,  had  sought  to  under- 
mine his  influence  and  had  fought  his  plans  for  the  pro- 
motion of  clean  sport  among  the  Mill  men.  None  knew 
better  than  Simmons  that  an  active  interest  in  clean  and 
vigorous  outdoor  sports  tended  to  produce  contentment 
of  mind,  and  a  contented  body  of  men  offered  unfertile 
soil  for  radical  and  socialistic  doctrines.  Hence,  Sim- 
mons had  from  the  first  openly  and  vociferously  opposed 
with  contemptuous  and  bitter  indignation  all  Jack's 
schemes  and  plans  for  the  promotion  of  athletic  sports. 
But  Jack  had  been  able  to  carry  the  men  with  him  and 
[186] 


THE  NEW  MANAGER 


the  recent  splendid  victory  over  a  famous  team  had  done 
much  to  discredit  brother  Simmons  and  his  propaganda. 

Already  Jack  was  planning  a  new  schedule  of  games 
for  the  summer.  Baseball,  football,  cricket,  would  give 
occupation  and  interest  to  all  classes  of  Mill  workers. 
And  in  his  new  position  he  felt  he  might  be  able,  to  an 
even  greater  degree,  to  carry  out  the  plans  which  he  had 
in  mind.  On  the  other  hand,  he  knew  full  well  that  men 
were  apt  to  be  suspicious  of  welfare  schemes  "promoted 
from  above."  His  own  hockey  men  he  felt  sure  he  could 
carry  with  him.  If  he  could  only  win  McNish  to  be  his 
sergeant-major,  success  would  be  assured.  This  must  be 
his  first  care. 

He  well  knew  that  McNish  had  no  love  for  Simmons, 
whom  the  Scotchman  despised  first,  because  he  was  no 
craftsman,  and  chiefly  because  he  had  no  soundly-based 
system  of  economics  but  was  governed  by  the  sheerest 
opportunism  in  all  his  activities.  A  combination  between 
McNish  and  Simmons  might  create  a  situation  not  easy 
to  deal  with.  Jack  resolved  that  that  combination  should 
be  prevented.  He  would  see  McNish  at  once,  after  the 
meeting  of  his  local,  which  he  remembered  was  set  for 
that  very  night. 

This  matter  being  settled,  he  determined  to  proceed 
immediately  to  the  office  for  an  interview  with  Wickes. 
He  must  get  to  know  as  speedily  as  possible  something 
of  the  shop  organization  and  of  its  effect  upon  produc- 
tion. He  found  Mr.  Wickes  awaiting  him  with  tremu- 
lous and  exultant  delight,  eager  to  put  himself,  his  ex- 
perience, his  knowledge  and  all  that  he  possessed  at  the 
disposal  of  the  new  manager.  The  whole  afternoon  was 
given  to  this  work,  and  before  the  day  was  done,  Jack 
had  in  his  mind  a  complete  picture  of  the  planing  mill, 
with  every  machine  in  place  and  an  estimate,  more  or  less 

[187] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


exact,  of  the  capacity  of  every  machine.  In  the  course 
of  this  investigation,  he  was  surprised  to  discover  that 
there  was  no  detailed  record  of  the  actual  production  of 
each  machine,  nor,  indeed,  anything  in  the  way  of  an 
accurate  cost  system  in  any  department  of  the  whole 
business. 

"How  do  you  keep  track  of  your  men  and  their  work, 
Wickes?"  he  inquired. 

"Oh !"  said  the  old  man,  "the  foremen  know  all  about 
that,  Mr.  Jack." 

"But  how  can  they  know  ?    What  check  have  they  ?" 

"Well,  they  are  always  about,  Mr.  Jack,  and  keep  their 
eyes  on  things  generally." 

"I  see,"  said  Jack.  "And  do  you  find  that  works  quite 
satisfactorily?" 

"Well,  sir,  we  have  never  gone  into  details,  you  know, 
Mr.  Jack,  but  if  you  wish " 

"Oh,  no,  Wickes,  I  am  just  trying  to  get  the  hang  of 
things,  you  know."  Jack  was  unwilling  to  even  suggest 
a  criticism  of  method  at  so  early  a  stage  in  his  man- 
agerial career.  "I  want  to  know  how  you  run  things, 
Wickes,  and  at  any  time  I  shall  be  glad  of  assistance  from 
you." 

The  old  bookkeeper  hastened  to  give  him  almost  tear- 
ful assurance  of  his  desire  to  assist  to  the  utmost  of  his 
power. 

The  meeting  of  Local  197  of  the  Woodworkers'  Union 
was  largely  attended,  a  special  whip  having  been  sent  out 
asking  for  a  full  meeting  on  the  ground  that  a  matter 
of  vital  importance  to  unionised  labour  was  to  be  con- 
sidered. 

The  matter  of  importance  turned  out  to  be  nothing  less 
than  a  proposition  that  the  Woodworkers'  Union  should 
join  with  all  other  unions  in  the  town  to  make  a  united 
[188] 


THE  NEW  MANAGER 


demand  upon  their  respective  employers  for  an  increase 
in  wages  and  better  conditions  all  around,  in  connection 
with  their  various  industries.  The  question  was  brought 
up  in  the  form  of  a  resolution  from  their  executive, 
which  strongly  urged  that  this  demand  should  be  approved 
and  that  a  joint  committee  should  be  appointed  to  take 
steps  for  the  enforcement  of  the  demand.  Thr  executive 
had  matters  thoroughly  in  hand.  Brother  Simmons  and 
the  more  radical  element  were  kept  to  the  background, 
the  speakers  chosen  to  present  the  case  being  all  mod- 
erates. There  was  no  suggestion  of  extreme  measures. 
Their  demands  were  reasonable,  and  it  was  believed  that 
the  employers  were  prepared  to  give  fair  consideration — 
indeed,  members  had  had  assurance  from  an  authoritative 
quarter  on  the  other  side  that  such  was  the  case. 

Notwithstanding  the  moderate  tone  adopted  in  present- 
ing it,  the  resolution  met  with  strenuous  opposition.  The 
great  majority  of  those  present  were  quiet,  steady-going 
men  who  wanted  chiefly  to  be  let  alone  at  their  work  and 
who  were  hostile  to  the  suggested  action,  which  might 
finally  land  them  in  "trouble."  The  old-time  workers 
in  the  Maitland  Mills  had  no  grievances  against  their 
employer.  They,  of  course,  would  gladly  accept  an  in- 
crease in  wages,  for  the  cost  of  living  was  steadily  climb- 
ing, but  they  disliked  intensely  the  proposed  method  of 
making  a  general  demand  for  an  increase  in  wages  and 
for  better  conditions. 

The  sporting  element  in  the  meeting  were  frankly  and 
fiercely  antagonistic  to  anything  that  would  disturb  the 
present  friendly  relation  with  their  employers  in  the 
Maitland  Mills.  "The  old  man"  had  always  done  the 
square  thing.  He  had  shown  himself  a  "regular  fellow" 
in  backing  them  up  in  all  their  games  during  the  past  year. 
He  had  always  given  them  a  fair  hearing  and  a  square 

[189] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


deal.  They  would  not  stand  for  any  hold-up  game  of  this 
sort.  It  was  a  low-down  game,  anyway. 

The  promoters  of  the  resolution  began  to  be  anxious 
for  their  cause.  They  had  not  anticipated  any  such  a 
strong  opposition  and  were  rather  nonplussed  as  to  the 
next  move.  Brother  Simmons  was  in  a  fury  and  was 
on  the  point  of  breaking  forth  into  a  passionate  denunci- 
ation of  scabs  and  traitors  generally  when,  to  the  amaze- 
ment of  all  and  the  intense  delight  of  the  supporters  of 
the  administration,  McNish  arose  and  gave  unqualified 
support  to  the  resolution. 

His  speech  was  a  masterpiece  of  diplomacy,  and  re- 
vealed his  long  practice  in  the  art  of  oratory  in  that  best 
of  all  training  schools,  the  labour  union  of  the  Old  Land. 
He  began  by  expressing  entire  sympathy  with  the  spirit 
of  the  opposition.  The  opposition,  however,  had  com- 
pletely misunderstood  the  intent  and  purport  of  the  reso- 
lution. None  of  them  desired  trouble.  There  need  not 
be,  indeed,  he  hoped  there  would  not  be  trouble,  but  there 
were  certain  very  ugly  facts  that  must  be  faced.  He 
then,  in  terse,  forceful  language,  presented  the  facts  in 
connection  with  the  cost  of  living,  quoting  statistics  from 
the  Department  of  Labour  to  show  the  steady  rise  in  the 
price  of  articles  of  food,  fuel  and  clo'.hing  since  the  be- 
ginning of  the  war,  a  truly  appalling  array.  He  had 
secured  price  lists  from  dealers  in  these  commodities, 
both  wholesale  and  retail,  to  show  the  enormous  profits 
made  during  the  war.  There  were  returned  soldiers  pres- 
ent. They  had  not  hesitated  at  the  call  of  duty  to  give 
all  they  had  for  their  country.  They  had  been  promised 
great  things  when  they  had  left  their  homes,  their  fam- 
ilies, their  business  and  their  jobs.  How  had  they  found 
things  upon  their  return?  He  illustrated  his  argument 
from  the  cases  of  men  present.  It  was  a  sore  spot  with 


THE  NEW  MANAGER 


many  of  them  and  he  pressed  hard  upon  it.  They  were 
suffering  to-day;  worse,  their  wives  and  children  were 
suffering.  Had  anyone  heard  of  their  employers  suf- 
fering? Here  again  he  offered  illustrations  of  men  who 
had  made  a  good  thing  out  of  the  war.  True,  there  were 
many  examples  of  the  other  kind  of  employer,  but  they 
must  deal  with  classes  and  not  individuals  in  a  case  like 
this.  This  was  part  of  a  much  bigger  thing  than  any 
mere  local  issue.  He  drew  upon  his  experience  in  the 
homeland  with  overwhelming  effect.  His  voice  rose  and 
rolled  in  his  richest  Doric  as  he  passionately  denounced 
the  tyranny  of  the  masters  in  the  coal  and  iron  industries 
in  the  homeland.  He  was  not  an  extremist ;  he  had  never 
been  one.  Indeed,  all  who  knew  him  would  bear  him  out 
when  he  said  that  he  had  been  an  opponent  of  Brother 
Simmons  and  those  who  thought  with  him  on  economic 
questions.  This  sudden  change  in  attitude  would  doubt- 
less surprise  his  brothers.  He  had  been  forced  to  change 
by  the  stern  logic  of  facts.  There  was  nothing  in  this 
resolution  which  any  reasonable  worker  might  object  to. 
There  was  nothing  in  the  resolution  that  every  worker 
with  any  sympathy  with  his  fellow  workers  should  not 
support.  Moreover,  he  warned  them  that  if  they  pre- 
sented a  united  front,  there  would  be  little  fear  of  trouble. 
If  they  were  divided  in  their  ranks,  or  if  they  were  half- 
hearted in  their  demands,  they  would  invite  opposition 
and,  therefore,  trouble.  He  asked  them  all  to  stand  to- 
gether in  supporting  a  reasonable  demand,  which  he  felt 
sure  reasonable  men  would  consider  favorably. 

The  effect  of  his  speech  was  overwhelming.  The  ad- 
ministration supporters  were  exuberant  in  their  enthusi- 
astic applause  and  in  their  vociferous  demands  for  a  vote. 
The  opposition  were  paralysed  by  the  desertion  of  one 
whom  they  had  regarded  and  trusted  as  a  leader  against 

[190 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


the  radical  element  and  were  left  without  answer  to  the 
masterly  array  of  facts  and  arguments  which  he  had 
presented. 

At  this  point,  the  door  opened  and  Maitland  walked  in. 
A  few  moments  of  tense  silence,  and  then  something 
seemed  to  snap.  The  opposition,  led  by  the  hockey  men 
and  their  supporters,  burst  into  a  demonstration  of  wel- 
come. The  violence  of  the  demonstration  was  not  solely 
upon  Maitland's  account.  The  leaders  of  the  opposition 
were  quick  to  realise  that  his  entrance  had  created  a  diver- 
sion for  them  which  might  save  them  from  disastrous 
defeat.  They  made  the  most  of  this  opportunity,  prolong- 
ing theidemonstration  and  joining  in  a  "chair  procession" 
which  carried  Maitland  shoulder-high  about  the  room, 
in  the  teeth  of  the  violent  protest  of  Brother  Simmons 
and  his  following. 

Order  being  restored,  business  was  again  resumed, 
when  Brother  Macnamara  rose  to  his  feet  and,  in  a  speech 
incoherent  at  times,  but  always  forceful,  proposed  that 
the  usual  order  be  suspended  and  that  here  and  now  a  mo- 
tion be  carried  expressing  their  gratification  at  the  recent 
great  hockey  victory  and  referring  in  highly  laudatory 
terms  to  the  splendid  work  of  Brother  Captain  Maitland, 
to  whose  splendid  efforts  victory  was  largely  due. 

It  was  in  vain  that  Brother  Simmons  and  those  of  his 
way  of  thinking  sought  to  stem  the  tide  of  disorder. 
The  motion  was  carried  with  acclaim. 

No  sooner  had  this  matter  been  disposed  of  than  Mait- 
land rose  to  his  feet  and  said : 

"Mr.  President,  I  wish  to  thank  you  all  for  this  very 
kind  reference  to  my  team  and  myself.  I  take  very  little 
credit  for  the  victory  which  we  won.  We  had  a  good 
team,  indeed,  quite  a  remarkable  team.  I  have  played  in 
a  good  many  athletic  teams  of  various  kinds,  but  in  two 
[192] 


THE  NEW  MANAGER 


particulars  the  Maitland  Mills  Hockey  Team  is  the  most 
remarkable  of  any  I  have  known — first,  in  their  splendid 
loyalty  in  taking  their  training  and  sticking  together;  that 
was  beyond  all  praise ;  and,  secondly,  in  the  splendid  grit 
which  they  showed  in  playing  a  losing  game.  Now,  Mr. 
President,  I  am  going  to  do  something  which  gives  me 
more  regret  than  any  of  you  can  understand.  I  have  to 
offer  my  resignation  as  a  member  of  this  union.  I  have 
accepted  the  position  of  manager  of  the  planing  mill  and 
I  understand  that  this  makes  it  necessary  that  I  resign 
as  a  member  of  this  union.  I  don't  really  see  why  this 
should  be  necessary.  I  don't  believe  myself  that  it  should, 
and,  brothers,  I  expect  to  live  long  enough  to  belong  to 
a  union  that  will  allow  a  fellow  like  me  to  be  a  member 
with  chaps  like  you.  But  meantime,  for  the  present  I 
must  resign.  You  have  treated  me  like  a  brother  and  a 
chum.  I  have  learned  a  lot  from  you  all,  but  one  thing 
especially,  which  I  shall  never  forget:  that  there  is  no 
real  difference  in  men  that  is  due  to  their  position  in  life; 
that  a  man's  job  doesn't  change  his  heart." 

He  paused  for  a  few  moments  as  if  to  gather  command 
of  his  voice,  which  had  become  suddenly  husky. 

"I  am  sorry  to  leave  you,  boys,  and  I  want  to  say  to 
you  from  my  heart  that  though  I  cannot  remain  a  mem- 
ber of  this  union,  I  can  be  and  I  will  be  a  brother  to  you 
all  the  same.  And  I  promise  you  that,  as  far  as  I  can,  I 
will  work  for  the  good  of  the  union  in  the  future  as  I 
have  done  in  the  past." 

McNish  alone  was  prepared  for  this  dramatic  an- 
nouncement, although  they  all  knew  that  Maitland  sooner 
or  later  would  assume  a  position  which  would  link  him 
up  with  the  management  of  the  business.  But  the  sud- 
denness of  the  change  and  the  dramatic  setting  of  the 
announcement  created  an  impression  so  profound  as  to 

[193] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


neutralise  completely  the  effect  of   McNish's   masterly 
speech. 

Disappointed  and  enraged  at  the  sudden  turn  of  events, 
he  was  too  good  a  general  to  allow  himself  to  be  routed 
in  disorder.  He  set  about  to  gather  his  disordered  forces 
for  a  fresh  attack,  when  once  more  the  hockey  men  took 
command  of  the  field.  This  time  it  was  Snoopy  Sykes, 
the  most  voiceless  member  of  the  union. 

After  a  few  moments  of  dazed  silence  that  followed 
Maitland's  announcement  of  his  resignation,  Snoopy  rose 
and,  encouraged  by  the  cheers  of  his  astonished  comrades, 
began  the  maiden  speech  of  his  life. 

"Mr.  President,"  he  shouted. 

"Go  to  it,  Snoopy,  old  boy." 

"I  never  made  a  speech  in  my  life,  never " 

"Good,  old  scout,  never  begin  younger !  Cheerio,  old 
son!" 

"And  I  want  to  say  that  he  don't  need  to.  I  once  heard 
of  a  feller  who  didn't.  He  kept  on  and  he  didn't  do  no 
harm  to  nobody.  And  the  Captain  here  wouldn't  neither. 
So  what  I  say  is  he  don't  need  to,"  and  Snoopy  sat  down 
with  the  whole  brotherhood  gazing  at  him  in  silence  and 
amazed  perplexity,  not  one  of  them  being  able  to  attach 
the  faintest  meaning  to  Snoopy's  amazing  oration. 

At  length  Fatty  Findlay,  another  of  the  voiceless  ones, 
but  the  very  special  pal  of  Snoopy  Sykes,  broke  forth  in 
a  puzzled  voice: 

"Say  it  again,  Snoopy." 

There  was  a  roar  of  laughter,  which  only  grew  in  vol- 
ume as  Snoopy  turned  toward  his  brothers  a  wrathful 
and  bewildered  countenance. 

"No,"    said    another    voice.      "Say    something    else, 
Snoopy.     Shoot  a  goal  this  time." 
[194] 


Again  Snoopy  rose.  "What  I  said  was  this,"  he  began 
indignantly.  Again  there  was  a  roar  of  laughter. 

"Say,  you  fellers,  shut  up  and  give  a  feller  a  chance. 
The  Captain  wants  to  resign.  I  say  'No.'  He  is  a  darned 
good  scout.  We  want  him  and  we  won't  let  him  go.  Let 
him  keep  his  card." 

"By  the  powers,"  roared  Macnamara,  "it  is  a  goal, 
Snoopy.  It's  a  humdinger.  I  second  the  motion." 

It  was  utterly  in  vain  that  Brother  Simmons  and  his 
whole  following  pointed  out  unitedly  and  successively  the 
utter  impossibility  and  absurdity  of  the  proposal  which 
was  unconstitutional  and  without  precedent.  The  hockey 
team  had  the  company  with  them  and  with  the  bit  in  their 
teeth  swept  all  before  them. 

At  this  point,  McNish  displayed  the  master-hand  that 
comes  from  long  experience.  He  saw  his  opportunity 
and  seized  it. 

"Mr.  President,"  he  said,  and  at  once  he  received  the 
most  complete  attention.  "A  confess  this  is  a  most  extra- 
ordinary proposal,  but  A'm  goin'  tae  support  it."  The 
roar  that  answered  told  him  that  he  had  regained  control 
of  the  meeting.  "Brother  Simmons  says  it  is  unconstitu- 
tional and  without  precedent.  He  is  no  correct  in  this. 
A  have  known  baith  maisters  and  managers  who  retained 
their  union  cards.  A  grant  ye  it  is  unusual,  but  may  I 
point  oot  that  the  circumstances  are  unusual?" — Wild 
yells  of  approval — "And  Captain  Maitland  is  an  unusual 
man" — louder  yells  of  approval — "It  may  that  there  is 
something  in  the  constitution  o'  this  union  that  stands 
in  the  way — "  Cries  of  "No!  No!"  and  consignment  of 
the  constitution  to  a  nameless  locality. — "A  venture  to 
suggest  that  a  committee  be  appointed,  consisting  of 
Brothers  Sykes,  Macnamara  and  the  chairman,  wi'  poors 

[195] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


tae  add,  tae  go  into  this  maitter  with  Captain  Maitland 
and  report." 

It  was  a  master-stroke.  A  true  union  man  regards 
with  veneration  the  constitution  and  hesitates  to  tamper 
with  it  except  in  a  perfectly  constitutional  manner.  The 
opposition  to  the  administration's  original  resolution 
had  gained  what  they  sought,  a  temporary  stay.  The 
committee  was  appointed  and  the  danger  to  both  the 
resolution  and  the  constitution  for  the  present  averted. 

Again  Mr.  McNish  took  command.  "And  noo,  Mr. 
President,"  he  said,  "the  oor  is  late.  We  are  all  tired  and 
we  all  wish  to  give  mair  thocht  to  the  main  maitter  before 
us.  A  move,  therefore,  that  we  adjourn  to  the  call  o' 
the  Executive." 

Once  more  Brother  Simmons  found  himself  in  a  pro- 
testing minority,  and  the  meeting  broke  up,  the  opposi- 
tion jubilant  over  their  victory,  the  supporters  of  the 
administration  determined  to  await  a  more  convenient 
time. 


[196] 


CHAPTER  XII 

LIGHT  THAT   IS  DARKNESS 

At  the  next  monthly  meeting  of  Local  197  of  the 
Woodworkers'  Union,  the  executive  had  little  difficulty 
in  finally  shelving  the  report  of  its  committee  appointed 
to  deal  with  the  resignation  of  Captain  Maitland,  and  as 
little  difficulty  in  passing  by  unanimous  vote  their  reso- 
lution held  up  at  the  last  meeting.  The  allied  unions 
had  meantime  been  extended  to  include  the  building 
trades.  Their  organization  had  been  perfected  and  their 
discipline  immensely  strengthened.  Many  causes  con- 
tributed to  this  result.  A  month's  time  had  elapsed  and 
the  high  emotional  tides  due  to  athletic  enthusiasm,  es- 
pecially the  hockey  victory,  had  had  space  to  subside. 
The  dead  season  for  all  outdoor  games  was  upon  them 
and  the  men,  losing  touch  with  each  other  and  with  their 
captain,  who  was  engrossed  in  studying  his  new  duties, 
began  to  spend  their  leisure  hours  in  loafing  about  the 
streets  or  lounging  in  the  pool  rooms. 

All  over  the  country  the  groundswell  of  unrest  was 
steadily  and  rapidly  rising.  The  returned  soldiers  who 
had  failed  to  readjust  themselves  to  the  changed  condi- 
tions of  life  and  to  the  changes  wrought  in  themselves 
by  the  war,  embittered,  disillusioned  and  disappointed, 
fell  an  easy  prey  to  unscrupulous  leaders  and  were  being 
exploited  in  the  interests  of  all  sorts  of  fads  and  foolish 
movements.  Their  government  bonuses  were  long  since 
spent  and  many  of  them,  through  no  fault  of  their  own, 
found  themselves  facing  a  situation  full  of  difficulty, 
hardship,  and  often  of  humiliation. 

[1971 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


Under  the  influence  of  financial  inflation  and  deceived 
by  the  abundant  flow  of  currency  in  every  department  of 
business,  industries  by  the  score  started  up  all  over  the 
land.  Few  could  foresee  the  approach  of  dark  and  stern 
days.  It  was  in  vain  that  financial  leaders  began  to  sound 
a  note  of  warning,  calling  for  retrenchment  and  thrift. 
And  now  the  inevitable  results  were  beginning  to  appear. 
The  great  steel  and  coal  industries  began  to  curtail  their 
operations,  while  desperately  striving  to  maintain  war 
prices  for  their  products.  Other  industries  followed  their 
example.  All  the  time  the  cost  of  living  continued  to 
mount.  Foodstuffs  reached  unheard-of  prices,  which, 
under  the  manipulations  of  unscrupulous  dealers,  con- 
tinued to  climb. 

Small  wonder  that  working  men  with  high  wages  and 
plenty  of  money  in  their  hands  cherished  exaggerated 
ideas  of  their  wealth  and  developed  extravagant  tastes  in 
dress,  amusements  and  in  standard  of  living.  With  the 
rest  of  the  world,  they  failed  to  recognise  the  fact  that 
money  was  a  mere  counter  in  wealth  and  not  wealth  itself. 
To  a  large  extent,  thrift  was  abandoned  and  while  deposits 
in  the  savings  banks  grew  in  volume,  the  depositors  failed 
to  recognise  the  fact  that  the  value  of  the  dollar  had  de- 
creased fifty  per  cent.  Already  the  reaction  from  all  this 
had  begun  to  set  in.  Nervousness  paralysed  the  great 
financial  institutions.  The  fiat  went  forth  "No  more 
money  for  industrial  enterprises.  No  more  advances  on 
wholesale  stocks."  The  order  was  issued  "Retrench. 
Take  your  losses,  unload  your  stocks."  This  men  were 
slow  to  do,  and  while  all  agreed  upon  the  soundness  of 
the  policy,  each  waited  for  the  other  to  begin. 

Through  the  month  of  April  anxiety,  fear  and  discon- 
tent began  to  haunt  the  minds  of  business  men.  In  the 
labour  world  the  High  Command  was  quick  to  sense  the 
[198] 


LIGHT  THAT  IS  DARKNESS 


approach  of  a  crisis  and  began  to  make  preparations  for 
the  coming  storm.  The  whole  industrial  and  commercial 
world  gradually  crystallised  into  its  two  opposing  classes. 
A  subsidised  press  began  earnestly  to  demand  lower  cost 
in  production,  retrenchment  in  expenditure,  a  cut  in  labour 
costs,  a  general  and  united  effort  to  meet  the  inevitable 
burden  of  deflation. 

On  the  other  hand,  an  inspired  press  began  to  raise  an 
outcry  against  the  increasing  cost  of  living,  to  point  out 
the  effect  of  the  house  famine  upon  the  income  of  the 
working  man,  and  to  sound  a  warning  as  to  the  danger 
and  folly  of  any  sudden  reduction  in  the  wage  scale. 

Increased  activity  in  the  ranks  of  organised  labour  be- 
gan to  be  apparent.  Everywhere  the  wild  and  radical 
element  was  gaining  in  influence  and  in  numbers,  and  the 
spirit  of  faction  and  internecine  strife  became  rampant. 

It  was  due  to  the.dominating  forcefulness  of  McNish, 
the  leader  of  the  moderates,  that  the  two  factions  in  the 
allied  unions  had  been  consolidated,  and  a  single  policy 
agreed  upon.  His  whole  past  had  been  a  preparation  for 
just  a  crisis  as  the  present.  His  wide  reading,  his  shrewd 
practical  judgment,  his  large  experience  in  labour  move- 
ments in  the  Old  Land,  gave  him  a  position  of  command- 
ing influence  which  enabled  him  to  dominate  the  execu- 
tives and  direct  their  activities.  His  sudden  and  unex- 
plained acceptance  of  the  more  radical  program  won  for 
him  an  enthusiastic  following  of  the  element  which  had 
hitherto  recognised  the  leadership  of  Brother  Simmons. 
Day  and  night,  with  a  zeal  that  never  tired,  he  laboured  at 
the  work  of  organising  and  disciplining  the  various  fac- 
tions and  parties  in  the  ranks  of  labour  into  a  single  com- 
pact body  of  righting  men  under  a  single  command. 
McNish  was  in  the  grip  of  one  of  the  mightiest  of  hu- 
man passions.  Since  that  day  in  the  Perrotte  home, 

[199] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


when  he  had  seen  the  girl  that  he  loved  practically  offer 
herself,  as  he  thought,  to  another  man,  he  had  resolutely 
kept  himself  away  from  her.  He  had  done  with  her  for- 
ever and  he  had  torn  out  of  his  heart  the  genuine  friend- 
ship which  he  had  begun  to  hold  toward  the  man  who  had 
deprived  him  of  her  love.  But  deep  in  his  heart  he  nour- 
ished a  passion  for  vengeance  that  became  an  obsession, 
a  madness  with  him.  He  merely  waited  the  opportunity 
to  gratify  his  passion. 

He  learned  that  the  Maitland  Mills  were  in  deep  water, 
financially.  His  keen  economic  instinct  and  his  deep  study 
of  economic  movements  told  him  that  a  serious  financial 
crisis,  continent-wide,  was  inevitable  and  imminent.  It 
only  needed  a  successful  labour  war  to  give  the  final  touch 
that  would  bring  the  whole  industrial  fabric  tumbling  into 
ruin.  The  desire  for  immediate  revenge  upon  the  man 
toward  whom  he  had  come  to  cherish  an  implacable  hatred 
would  not  suffer  him  to  await  the  onset  of  a  nation-wide 
industrial  crisis.  He  fancied  that  he  saw  the  opportunity 
for  striking  an  immediate  blow  here  in  Blackwater. 

He  steadily  thwarted  Maitland's  attempts  to  get  into 
touch  with  him,  whether  at  the  works  or  in  his  own  home, 
where  Maitland  had  become  a  frequent  visitor.  He  was 
able  only  partially  to  allay  his  mother's  anxiety  and  her 
suspicion  that  all  was  not  well  with  him.  That  shrewd 
old  lady  knew  her  son  well  enough  to  suspect  that  some 
untoward  circumstance  had  befallen  him,  but  she  knew 
also  that  she  could  do  no  more  than  bide  her  time. 

With  the  workers  of  the  Maitland  Mills  circumstances 
favoured  the  plans  of  McNish  and  the  Executive  of  the 
allied  unions.  The  new  manager  was  beginning  to 
make  his  hand  felt  upon  the  wheel.  Checks  upon  wastage 
in  labour  time  and  in  machine  time  were  being  instituted ; 
everywhere  there  was  a  tightening  up  of  loose  screws  and 
[200] 


LIGHT  THAT  IS  DARKNESS 


a  knitting  up  of  loose  ends,  with  the  inevitable  conse- 
quent irritation.  This  was  especially  true  in  the  case  of 
Tony  Perrotte,  to  whom  discipline  was  ever  an  external 
force  and  never  an  inward  compulsion.  Inexact  in  every- 
thing he  did,  irregular  in  his  habits,  irresponsible  in  his 
undertakings,  he  met  at  every  turn  the  pressure  of  the 
firm,  resolute  hand  of  the  new  manager.  Deep  down  in 
his  heart  there  was  an  abiding  admiration  and  affection 
for  Jack  Maitland,  but  he  loathed  discipline  and  kicked 
against  it. 

The  first  of  May  is  ever  a  day  of  uncertainty  and  un- 
rest in  the  world  of  labour.  It  is  a  time  for  readjustment, 
for  the  fixing  of  wage  scales,  for  the  assertion  of  labour 
rights  and  the  ventilating  of  labour  wrongs.  It  is  a  time 
favourable  to  upheaval,  and  is  therefore  awaited  by  all 
employers  of  labour  with  considerable  anxiety. 

On  the  surface  there  was  not  a  ripple  to  indicate  that 
as  far  as  the  Maitland  Mills  were  concerned  there  was  be- 
neath a  surging  tide  of  unrest.  So  undisturbed  indeed 
was  the  surface  that  the  inexperienced  young  manager 
was  inclined  to  make  light  of  the  anxieties  of  his  father, 
and  was  confident  in  his  assurance  that  the  danger  of  a 
labour  crisis  had,  for  the  present  at  least,  been  averted. 

Out  of  the  blue  heaven  fell  the  bolt.  The  mails  on 
May  Day  morning  brought  to  the  desk  of  every  manager 
of  every  industry  in  Blackwater,  and  to  every  building 
contractor,  a  formal  document  setting  forth  in  terms 
courteous  but  firm  the  demands  of  the  executives  of  the 
allied  unions  of  Blackwater. 

"Well,  it  has  come,  boy,"  was  Maitland's  greeting  to 
his  son,  who  came  into  the  office  for  the  usual  morning 
consultation. 

"What?"  said  Jack. 

[201] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


"War,"  replied  his  father,  tossing  him  the  letter  and 
watching  his  face  as  he  read  it. 

Jack  handed  him  the  letter  without  a  word. 
"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it?"  said  his  father. 
"It  might  be  worse." 

"Worse?"  roared  his  father.  "Worse?  How  can  it 
be  worse?" 

"Well,  it  is  really  a  demand  for  an  increase  in  wages. 
The  others,  I  believe,  are  mere  frills.  And  between  our- 
selves, sir,  though  I  haven't  gone  into  it  very  carefully,  I 
am  not  sure  but  that  an  increase  in  wages  is  about  due." 
Maitland  glowered  at  his  son  in  a  hurt  and  hopeless 
rage. 

"An  increase  in  wages  due?"  he  said.  "After  the  in- 
crease of  six  months  ago?  The  thing  is  preposterous. 
The  ungrateful  scoundrels !" 

At  this  point  the  telephone  upon  his  desk  rang.  Jack 
took  up  the  receiver. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  McGinnis.  .  .  .  Yes,  he  is  here. 
.  .  .  Yes.  ...  At  least,  I  suppose  so.  ...  Oh,  I  don't 
know.  ...  It  is  rather  peremptory.  .  .  .  All  right,  sir, 
I  shall  tell  him." 

"Let  me  talk  to  him,"  said  his  father,  impatiently. 
"Never  mind  just  now,  Dad,"  said  Jack,  with  his  hand 
over  the  receiver.     Then  through  the  telephone  he  said: 
"All  right,  sir;  he  will  await  you  here.     Good  morning." 
".   .  .  The  old  boy  is  wild,"  said  Jack  with  a  slight 
laugh.     "The  wires  are  quite  hot." 

"This  is  no  joke,  Jack,  I  can  tell  you.  McGinnis  is 
coming  over,  is  he  ?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Jack,  "but  we  won't  get  much  help  from 
him." 

"Why  not?"  inquired  his  father.    "He  is  a  very  shrewd 
and  able  business  man." 
[202] 


LIGHT  THAT  IS  DARKNESS 


"He  may  be  all  that,  sir,  but  in  a  case  like  this,  if  you 
really  want  my  opinion,  and  I  have  no  wish  to  be  dis- 
respectful, he  is  a  hot-headed  ass.  Just  the  kind  of  em- 
ployer to  rejoice  the  heart  of  a  clever  labour  leader  who 
is  out  for  trouble.  Dad,"  and  Jack's  voice  became  very 
earnest,  "let's  work  this  out  by  ourselves.  We  can  handle 
our  own  men  better  without  the  help  of  McGinnis  or  any 
other." 

"That  is  just  the  trouble.  Look  at  this  precious  docu- 
ment, 'The  Allied  Unions.'  What  have  I  got  to  do  with 
them?  And  signed  by  Simmons  and  McDonough.  Who 
is  McDonough,  pray?" 

"McDonough?  Oh,  I  know  McDonough.  He  is  a 
little  like  McGinnis — big-hearted,  hot-headed,  good  in  a 
scrap,  useless  in  a  conference.  But  I  suggest,  sir,  that  we 
ignore  the  slight  unpleasant  technicalities  in  the  manner 
and  method  of  negotiation  and  try  to  deal  with  our  own 
people  in  a  reasonable  way." 

"I  am  ready  always  to  meet  my  own  people,  but  I 
refuse  utterly  to  deal  with  this  committee !"  It  was  not 
often  that  Mr.  Maitland  became  profane,  but  in  his  de- 
scription of  this  particular  group  of  individuals  his  or- 
dinary English  suffered  a  complete  collapse. 

"Dad,  McGinnis  will  be  here  in  a  few  minutes.  I 
should  like  to  suggest  one  or  two  things,  if  you  will 
allow  me." 

"Go  on,"  said  his  father  quickly. 

"Dad,  this  is  war,  and  I  have  learned  a  little  about  that 
game  'over  there.'  And  I  have  learned  something  about 
it  in  my  athletic  activities.  The  first  essential  is  to  de- 
cline to  play  the  enemy's  game.  Let's  discover  his  plan 
of  campaign.  As  I  read  this  document,  the  thing  that 
hits  my  eye  is  this :  do  they  really  want  the  things  they 
ask  for,  or  is  the  whole  thing  a  blind?  What  I  mean  is, 

[203] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


do  they  really  want  war  or  peace?  I  say  let's  feel  them 
out.  If  they  are  after  peace,  the  thing  is  easy.  If  they 
want  war,  this  may  come  to  be  a  very  serious  thing. 
Meantime,  Dad,  let's  not  commit  ourselves  to  McGinnis. 
Let's  play  it  alone." 

Mr.  Maitland's  lips  had  set  in  a  thin,  hard  line.  His 
face  was  like  a  mask  of  grey  steel.  He  sat  thinking 
silently. 

"Here  he  comes,"  said  Jack,  looking  out  of  the  win- 
dow. "Dad,  you  asked  me  to  come  into  this  with  you. 
Let's  play  the  game  together.  I  found  it  wise  to  place 
the  weight  on  the  defence  line.  Will  you  play  defence  in 
this?" 

The  lines  in  his  father's  face  began  to  relax. 
"All  right,  boy,  we'll  play  it  together,  and  meantime 
I  shall  play  defence." 

"By  Jove,  Dad,"  cried  Jack,  in  a  tone  of  exultant  con- 
fidence, "we'll  beat  'em.  And  now  here  comes  that  old 
Irish  fire-eater.  I'll  go.  No  alliance,  Dad,  remember." 
His  father  nodded  as  Jack  left  the  room,  to  return  almost 
immediately  with  Mr.  McGinnis,  evidently  quite  incoher- 
ent with  rage. 

In  the  outer  office  Jack  paused  beside  the  desk  of  the 
old  bookkeeper.  From  behind  the  closed  door  came  the 
sound  of  high  explosives. 

"Rough  stuff  in  there,  eh,  Wickes,"  said  Jack,  with  a 
humorous  smile.     For  some  moments  he  stood  listening. 
"War  is  a  terrible  thing,"  he  added  with  a  grin. 
"What  seems  to  be  the  matter,  Mr.  Jack?" 
Jack  laid  before  him  the  document  sent  out  by  the 
Allied  Unions. 

"Oh,  this  is  terrible,  Mr.  Jack !  And  just  at  this  time. 
I  am  very  much  afraid  it  will  ruin  us." 

"Ruin  us  ?    Rot.    Don't  ever  say  that  word  again.    We 
[204] 


LIGHT  THAT  IS  DARKNESS 


will  possibly  have  a  jolly  good  row.  Someone  will  be 
hurt  and  perhaps  all  of  us,  more  or  less,  but  I  don't  mean 
to  be  beaten,  if  I  know  myself,"  he  added,  with  the  smile 
on  his  face  that  his  hockey  team  loved  to  see  before  a 
match.  "Now,  Wickes,"  continued  Jack,  "get  that  idea 
of  failure  out  of  your  mind.  We  are  going  to  win.  And 
meantime,  let  us  prepare  for  our  campaign.  Here's  a  bit 
of  work  I  want  you  to  do  for  me.  Get  four  things  for 
me :  the  wages  for  the  last  three  years — you  have  the 
sheets?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

" — The  cost  of  living  from  the  Labour  Gazette  for  the 
last  three  years — you  have  them  here — and  the  rates  of 
increase  in  wages.  Plot  a  diagram  showing  all  these 
things.  You  know  what  I  mean?" 

"Yes,  sir,  I  understand." 

"And  find  out  the  wages  paid  at  our  competing  points." 

"All  right,  Mr.  Jack.  I  know  what  you  want.  I  can 
give  you  the  necessary  information  in  regard  to  the  first 
three  points  almost  at  once.  It  will  take  some  days,  how- 
ever, to  get  the  wages  of  our  competing  points." 

"All  right,  old  boy.  Carry  on!"  said  Jack,  and  with 
the  same  smile  on  his  face  he  passed  out  of  the  office  into 
the  shops. 

It  amused  him  slightly  to  observe  the  change  in  the 
attitude  and  bearing  of  his  men.  They  would  not  look 
at  him  fairly  in  the  face.  Even  Snoopy  Sykes  and  Mac- 
namara  avoided  his  glance.  But  he  had  for  everyone  his 
usual  cheery  word.  Why  should  he  not?  These  chaps 
had  no  hatred  for  him,  nor  he  for  them.  He  had  come  to 
understand  union  methods  of  discipline  and  recognised 
fully  the  demands  for  loyalty  and  obedience  imposed  upon 
its  members  by  the  organisation.  These  men  of  his  were 
bound  to  the  union  by  solemn  obligations.  He  bore 

[205] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


them  no  ill-will  on  that  score.  Rather  he  respected  them 
the  more  for  it.  If  a  fight  was  inevitable,  he  would  do  his 
best  to  beat  them  but  he  would  allow  no  spirit  of  hatred 
to  change  his  mind  toward  them  nor  cloud  his  judgment. 

The  day  was  full  of  excursions  and  alarms.  A  hurry 
call  was  sent  out  by  McGinnis  to  all  employers  who  had 
received  copies  of  the  document  from  the  Allied  Unions. 
In  the  afternoon  a  meeting  was  held  in  the  Board  of 
Trade  Building,  but  it  was  given  over  chiefly  to  vitupera- 
tion and  threatening  directed  toward  their  variously  de- 
scribed employees.  With  one  heart  and  voice  all  affirmed 
with  solemn,  and  in  many  cases  with  profane  oaths  that 
they  would  not  yield  a  jot  to  the  insolent  demands  of  this 
newly  organised  body. 

"I  have  already  sent  my  answer,"  shouted  Mr.  McGin- 
nis. 

"What  did  you  say,  Mac?" 

"Told  'em  to  go  to  hell,  and  told  'em  that  if  any  of 
these  highly  coloured  committee  men  came  on  my  prem- 
ises, I  would  kick  'em  into  the  middle  of  next  week." 

Jack,  who  was  present  at  the  meeting,  sat  listening  with 
silent  and  amused  pity.  They  seemed  to  him  so  like  a 
group  of  angry  children  whose  game  had  suddenly  been 
interfered  with  and  whose  rage  rendered  them  incapable 
of  coherent  thought. 

Grant  Maitland,  who,  throughout  the  meeting  had  sat 
silent,  finally  rose  and  said:  "Gentlemen,  the  mere  ex- 
pression of  feeling  may  afford  a  sort  of  satisfaction  but 
the  question  is,  What  is  to  be  done?  That  the  situation 
is  grave  for  all  of  us  we  know  too  well.  Not  many  of  us 
are  in  a  position  to  be  indifferent  to  a  strike.  Let  us  get 
down  to  business.  What  shall  we  do?" 

"Fight  them  to  a  finish!  Smash  the  unions !"  were  the 
[206] 


LIGHT  THAT  IS  DARKNESS 


suggestions  in  various  forms  and  with  various  descrip- 
tive adjectives. 

"It  may  come  to  a  fight,  gentlemen,  but  however  grati- 
fying a  fight  may  be  to  our  feelings,  a  fight  may  be  dis- 
astrous to  our  business.  A  strike  may  last  for  weeks,  per- 
haps months.  Are  we  in  a  position  to  stand  that?  And 
as  for  smashing  the  unions,  let  us  once  and  for  all  put 
such  a  thought  out  of  our  minds.  These  unions  have  all 
international  affiliations.  It  is  absurd  to  imagine  that  we 
here  in  Blackwater  could  smash  a  single  union." 

Fiercely  McGinnis  made  reply.  "I  want  to  tell  you 
right  here  and  now  that  I  am  prepared  to  close  down  and 
go  out  of  business  but  I  will  have  no  outside  committee 
tell  me  how  to  run  my  job." 

But  no  one  took  this  threat  seriously,  and  no  one  but 
knew  that  a  shut-down  for  any  of  them  might  mean  dis- 
aster. They  all  recalled  those  unfilled  orders  which  they 
were  straining  every  nerve  to  complete  before  the  mar- 
ket should  break,  or  cancellation  should  come.  It  added 
not  a  little  to  their  rage  that  they  knew  themselves  to  be 
held  in  the  grip  of  circumstances  over  which  they  had 
little  control. 

After  much  angry  deliberation  it  was  finally  agreed 
that  they  should  appoint  a  committee  to  consider  the  whole 
situation  and  to  prepare  a  plan  of  action.  Meantime  the 
committee  were  instructed  to  temporise  with  the  enemy. 

The  evening  papers  announced  the  imminence  of  a 
strike  the  extent  and  magnitude  of  which  had  never  been 
experienced  in  the  history  of  Blackwater.  Everywhere 
the  citizens  of  the  industrial  town  were  discussing  the 
disturbing  news  anxiously,  angrily,  indifferently,  accord- 
ing as  they  were  variously  affected.  But  there  was  a  gen- 
eral agreement  among  all  classes  of  citizens  that  a  strike 
in  the  present  industrial  and  financial  situation  which  was 

[207] 


already  serious  enough,  would  be  nothing  short  of  a 
calamity,  because  no  matter  what  the  issue  would  be,  no 
matter  which  of  the  parties  won  in  the  conflict,  a  fight 
meant  serious  loss  not  only  to  the  two  parties  immediately 
concerned,  but  to  the  whole  community  as  well.  With  the 
rank  and  file  of  the  working  people  there  was  little  heart 
for  a  fight.  More  especially,  men  upon  whom  lay  the  re- 
sponsibility for  the  support  of  homes  shrank  from  the 
pain  and  the  suffering,  as  well  as  from  the  loss  which  ex- 
perience taught  them  a  strike  must  entail.  It  is  safe  to 
say  that  in  every  working  man's  home  in  Blackwater  that 
night  there  was  to  be  found  a  woman  who,  as  she  put  her 
children  to  bed,  prayed  that  "trouble  might  be  averted, 
for  she  knew  that  in  every  war  it  is  upon  the  women  and 
children  that  in  the  last  analysis  the  sorest  burden  must 
fall.  To  them  even  victory  would  mean  for  many  months 
a  loss  of  luxuries  for  the  family,  it  might  be  of  comforts; 
and  defeat,  which  would  come  not  until  after  long  con- 
flict, would  mean  not  only  straitened  means  but  actual 
poverty,  with  all  the  attendant  humiliation  and  bitterness 
which  would  kill  for  them  the  joy  of  life  and  sensibly  add 
to  its  already  heavy  burden. 

That  night  Jack  Maitland  felt  that  a  chat  with  the 
Reverend  Murdo  Matheson  might  help  to  clear  his  own 
mind  as  to  the  demands  of  the  Allied  Unions.  He  found 
the  minister  in  his  study  and  in  great  distress  of  soul. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Maitland,"  he  said,  giving  him  a 
hearty  greeting.  "My  hope  is  largely  placed  in  you  and 
you  must  not  fail  me  in  this  crisis.  What  exactly  are  the 
demands  of  the  unions?" 

Maitland  spread  before  him  the  letter  which  his  father 

had  received  that  morning.     The  Reverend  Murdo  read 

it  carefully  over,  then,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  he  said : 

"Well,  it  might  be  worse.    There  should  not  be  much  dif- 

[208] 


LIGHT  THAT  IS  DARKNESS 


ficulty  in  coming  to  an  agreement  between  people  anxious 
for  peace." 

After  an  hour  spent  in  canvassing  the  subject  from 
various  points  of  view,  the  Reverend  Murdo  exclaimed: 
"Let  us  go  and  see  McNish." 

"The  very  thing,"  said  Maitland.  "I  have  been  trying 
to  get  in  touch  with  him  for  the  last  month  or  so,  but  he 
avoids  me." 

"Ay,"  replied  the  Reverend  Murdo,  "he  has  a  reason, 
no  doubt." 

To  Maitland's  joy  they  found  McNish  at  home.  They 
were  received  with  none-too-cordial  a  welcome  by  the 
son,  with  kindly,  even  eager  greeting  by  the  mother. 

"Come  awa  in,  Minister ;  come  awa,  Mr.  Maitland.  You 
have  come  to  talk  about  the  'trouble,'  a  doot.  Malcolm 
does-na  want  to  talk  about  it  to  me,  a  bad  sign.  He  de- 
clines to  converse  even,  wi'  me,  Mr,  Matheson.  Perhaps 
ye  may  succeed  better  wi'  him." 

"Mr.  Matheson  can  see  for  himself,"  said  her  son, 
using  his  most  correct  English,  "the  impropriety  of  my 
talking  with  an  employer  in  this  way." 

"Nonsense,  McNish,"  said  the  minister  briskly.  "You 
know  me  quite  well  and  we  both  know  Maitland.  It  is 
just  sheer  nonsense  to  say  that  you  cannot  talk  with  us. 
Everyone  in  town  is  talking.  Every  man  in  your  union 
is  talking,  trying  to  justify  their  present  position,  which, 
I  am  bound  to  say,  takes  some  justifying." 

"Why?"  asked  McNish  hotly. 

"Because  the  demands  are  some  of  them  quite  unsound. 
Some  other  than  you  had  a  hand  in  drawing  up  your 
Petition  of  Right,  McNish,  and  some  of  the  demands 
are  impossible." 

"How  do  you "  began  McNish  indignantly,  but  the 

minister  held  up  his  hand  and  continued : 

[209] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


"And  some  of  them  are  both  sound  and  reasonable." 

"What's  wrang  with  the  demands  ?"  said  McNish. 

"That's  what  I  am  about  to  show  you,"  said  the  min- 
ister with  grave  confidence. 

"Aye,  minister,"  said  the  mother  with  a  chuckle  of  de- 
light. "That's  you !  That's  you !  Haud  at  him !  Haud 
at  him !  That's  you !" 

They  took  seats  about  the  blazing  fire  for  the  evening 
was  still  shrewd  enough  to  make  the  fire  welcome. 

"Noo,  Mr.  Matheson,"  said  the  old  lady,  leaning  toward 
him  with  keen  relish  in  her  face,  "read  me  the  union  de- 
mands. Malcolm  wadna  read  nor  talk  nor  anything 
but  glower." 

The  Reverend  Murdo  read  the  six  clauses. 

"Urn!     They're  no  bad  negotiating  pints." 

"Negotiatin'  pints !''  exclaimed  her  son  indignantly. 
"Noo,  mither,  ye  maun  play  the  game.  A'm  no  gaun  tae 
argue  with  ye  to-night.  Nor  wi'  any  of  ye,"  he  added. 

"Nonsense,  Malcolm.  You  can't  object  to  talk  over 
these  points  with  us.  You  must  talk  them  over  before 
you're  done  with  them.  And  you'll  talk  them  over  before 
the  whole  town,  too." 

"What  do  you  mean,  'before  the  whole  town'  ?"  said 
Malcolm. 

"This  is  a  community  question.  This  community  is 
interested  and  greatly  interested.  It  will  demand  a  full 
exposition  of  the  attitude  of  the  unions." 

"The  community!''  snorted  McNish  in  contempt. 

"Aye,  the  community,"  replied  the  minister,  "and  you 
are  not  to  snort  at  it.  That's  the  trouble  with  you  labour 
folk.  You  think  you  are  the  whole  thing.  You  forget 
the  third  and  most  important  party  in  any  industrial 
strife,  the  community.  The  community  is  interested  first, 
in  justice  being  done  to  its  citizens — to  all  its  citizens, 

[210] 


LIGHT  THAT  IS  DARKNESS 


mind  you;  second,  in  the  preservation  of  the  services 
necessary  to  its  comfort  and  well-being ;  third,  in  the  con- 
tinuance of  the  means  of  livelihood  to  wage  earners." 

"Ye  missed  cne,"  said  McNish  grimly.  "The  conserv- 
ing of  the  profits  of  labour  for  the  benefit  of  the  capitalist." 

"I  might  have  put  that  in,  too,"  said  the  minister,  "but 
it  is  included  in  my  first.  But  I  should  have  added  an- 
other which,  to  my  mind,  is  of  the  very  first  importance, 
the  preservation  of  the  spirit  of  brotherly  feeling  and 
Christian  decency  as  between  man  and  man  in  this  com- 
munity." 

"Aye,  ye  might,"  replied  Malcolm  in  bitter  irony,  "and 
ye  might  begin  with  the  ministers  and  the  churches." 

"Whisht,  laddie,"  said  his  mother  sharply.  "Mind  yer 
manners." 

"He  doesn't  mean  me  specially,  Mrs.  McNish,  but  I 
will  not  say  but  what  he  is  right." 

"No,"  replied  McNish,  "I  don't  mean  you  exactly, 
Mr.  Matheson." 

"Don't  take  it  back,  McNish,"  said  the  minister.  "I 
need  it.  We  all  need  it  in  the  churches,  and  we  will  take 
it,  too.  But  come  now,  let  us  look  at  these  clauses. 
.You  are  surely  not  standing  for  them  all,  or  for  them 
all  alike?" 

"Why  not,  then?"  said  McNish,  angrily. 

"I'll  tell  you,"  replied  the  minister,  "and  won't  take 
long,  either."  He  proceeded  to  read  over  carefully  the 
various  clauses  in  the  demands  of  the  allied  unions, 
emphasizing  and  explaining  the  meaning  of  each  clause. 
"First,  as  to  wages.  This  is  purely  a  matter  for  adjust- 
ment to  the  cost  of  living  and  general  industrial  conditions. 
It  is  a  matter  of  arithmetic  and  common  sense.  There 
is  no  principle  involved." 

"I  don't  agree  with  you,"  said  McNish.     "There  is 

[211] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


more  than  the  cost  of  living  to  be  considered.  There  is 
the  question  of  the  standard  of  living.  Why  should  it 
be  considered  right  that  the  standard  of  living  for  the 
working  man  should  be  lower  than  that  for  the  profes- 
sional man  or  the  capitalist?" 

"There  you  are  again,  McNish,"  said  the  minister. 
"You  are  not  up  to  your  usual  to-night.  You  know 
quite  well  that  every  working  man  in  my  parish  lives 
better  than  I  do,  and  spends  more  money  on  his  living. 
The  standard  of  living  has  no  special  significance  with 
the  working  man  to-day  as  distinguished  from  the  pro- 
fessional man.  We  are  not  speaking  of  the  wasteful  and 
idle  rich.  So  I  repeat  that  here  it  is  a  matter  of  adjust- 
ment and  that  there  is  no  principle  involved.  Now,  as 
regard  to  hours.  You  ask  an  eight-hour  day  and  a  Satur- 
day half-holiday.  That,  too,  is  a  matter  of  adjustment." 

"What  about  production,  Mr.  Matheson?"  said  Mait- 
land.  "And  overhead?  Production  costs  are  abnormally 
high  to-day  and  so  are  carrying  charges.  I  am  not  saying 
that  a  ten-hour  day  is  not  too  long.  Personally,  I  believe 
that  a  man  cannot  keep  at  his  best  for  ten  hours  in  certain 
industries — not  in  all." 

"Long  hours  do  not  mean  big  production,  Maitland. 
Not  long  hours  but  intensive  and  co-ordinated  work  bring 
up  production  and  lower  production  costs." 

"What  about  idle  machines  and  overhead?"  inquired 
Maitland. 

"A  very  important  consideration,"  said  the  minister.: 
"The  only  sound  rule  governing  factory  industry  espe- 
cially is  this:  the  longest  possible  machine  time,  the 
shortest  possible  man  time.  But  here  again  it  is  a  ques- 
tion of  organisation,  adjustment  and  co-ordination  of 
work  and  workers.  We  all  want  education  here." 

"If  I  remember  right,"  said  McNish,  and  he  could  not 

[212] 


LIGHT  THAT  IS  DARKNESS 


keep  the  bitterness  out  of  his  voice,  "I  have  heard  you 
say  something  in  the  pulpit  at  times  in  regard  to  the  value 
of  men's  immortal  souls.  What  care  can  men  take  of 
their  bodies  and  minds,  let  alone  their  souls,  if  you  work 
them  ten  hours  a  day?" 

"There  is  a  previous  question,  McNish,"  said  the  min- 
ister. "Why  give  more  leisure  time  to  men  who  spend 
their  leisure  hours  now  in  pool  rooms  and  that  sort  of 
nonsense?" 

"And  whose  fault  is  that,"  replied  McNish  sharply. 
"Who  is  responsible  that  they  have  not  learned  to  use 
their  leisure  more  wisely  ?  And  further,  what  about  your 
young  bloods  and  their  leisure  hours?" 

"Ay,  A  doot  he  has  ye  there,  minister,"  said  Mrs. 
McNish  with  a  quiet  chuckle. 

"He  has,"  said  the  minister.  "The  point  is  well  taken 
and  I  acknowledge  it  freely.  My  position  is  that  the  men 
need  more  leisure,  but,  more  than  that,  they  need  instruc- 
tion as  to  how  to  use  their  leisure  time  wisely.  But  let 
us  get  on  to  the  third  point.  'A  Joint  Committee  of 
References  demanded  to  which  all  complaints  shall  be 
referred.'  Now,  that's  fine.  That's  the  Whitley  plan. 
It  is  quite  sound  and  has  proved  thoroughly  useful  in 
practice." 

"I  quite  agree,"  said  Maitland  frankly.  "But  certain 
conditions  must  be  observed." 

"Of  course,  of  course,"  replied  the  minister.  "Con- 
ditions must  be  observed  everywhere.  Now,  the  fourth 
point:  The  foreman  must  be  a  member  of  the  union.' 
Thoroughly  unsound.  They  can't  ride  two  horses  at 
once." 

"I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  said  Maitland.  "For  my 
part,  I  should  like  to  have  retained  my  membership  in 
the  union.  The  more  that  both  parties  meet  for  con- 

[213] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


ference,  the  better.  And  the  more  connecting  links  be- 
tween them,  the  better.  I  should  like  to  see  a  union 
where  employers  and  employees  should  have  equal  rights 
of  membership." 

McNish  grunted  contemptuously. 

"It  would  be  an  interesting  experiment,"  said  the  min- 
ister. "An  interesting  experiment,  McNish,  and  you  are 
not  to  grunt  like  that.  The  human  element,  of  course, 
is  the  crux  here.  If  we  had  the  right  sort  of  foreman 
he  might  be  trusted  to  be  a  member  of  the  union,  but 
a  man  cannot  direct  and  be  directed  at  the  same  time. 
But  that  union  of  yours,  Maitland,  with  both  parties 
represented  in  it,  is  a  big  idea.  It  is  worth  considering. 
What  do  you  think  about  it,  McNish?" 

"What  do  I  think  of  it?  It  is  sheer  idealistic  non- 
sense." 

"It  is  a  noble  idea,  laddie,  and  no  to  be  sneered  at,  but 
A  doot  it  needs  a  better  world  for  it  than  we  hae  at  the 
present." 

"I  am  afraid  that  is  true,"  said  the  minister.  "But 
meantime  a  foreman  is  a  man  who  gives  orders  and 
directs  work,  and,  generally  speaking,  he  must  remain 
with  a  directorate  in  any  business.  There  may  be  ex- 
ceptions. You  must  acknowledge  that,  McNish." 

"I'll  acknowledge  nothing  of  the  sort,"  replied  McNish, 
and  entered  into  a  long  argument  which  convinced  no  one. 

"Now  we  come  to  the  next,  number  five :  'a  voice  in  the 
management/  it  means.  Come  now,  McNish,  this  is 
rather  much.  Do  you  want  Mr.  Maitland's  job  here,  or 
is  there  anyone  in  your  shop  who  would  be  anything  but 
an  embarrassment  trying  running  the  Maitland  Mills,  and 
you  know  quite  well  that  the  men  want  nothing  of  the 
sort.  It  may  be  as  Mrs.  McNish  said,  'a.  good  negotiating 
point,'  but  it  has  no  place  in  practical  politics  here  in 
[214] 


LIGHT  THAT  IS  DARKNESS 


Blackwater.  How  would  you  like,  for  instance,  to  take 
orders  from  Simmons?" 

The  old  lady  chuckled  delightedly.  "He  has  you  there, 
laddie,  he  has  you  there!" 

But  this  McNish  would  not  acknowledge,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  argue  at  great  length  on  purely  theoretical 
grounds  for  joint  control  of  industries,  till  his  mother 
quite  lost  patience  with  him. 

"Hoots,  laddie,  haud  yer  hoofs  on  mither  earth.  Would 
ye  want  yon  radical  bodies  to  take  chairge  o'  ony  business 
in  which  ye  had  a  baubee  ?  Ye're  talkin'  havers." 

"Now,  let  us  look  at  the  last,"  said  Mr.  Matheson. 
"It  is  practically  a  demand  for  the  closed  shop.  Now, 
McNish,  I  ask  you,  man  to  man,  what  is  the  use  of 
putting  that  in  there  ?  It  is  not  even  a  negotiating  point." 

At  that  McNish  fired  up.  "It  is  no  negotiating  point," 
he  declared.  "I  stand  for  that.  It  is  vital  to  the  very 
existence  of  unionised  labour.  Everyone  knows  that. 
Unionism  cannot  maintain  itself  in  existence  without  the 
closed  shop.  It  is  the  ideal  toward  which  all  unionised 
labour  works." 

"Now,  McNish,  tell  me  honestly,"  said  the  minister, 
"do  you  expect  or  hope  for  an  absolutely  closed  shop  in 
the  factories  here  in  Blackwater,  or  in  the  Building 
Industries?  Have  you  the  faintest  shadow  of  a  hope?" 

"We  may  not  get  it,"  said  McNish,  "but  that  is  no 
reason  why  we  should  not  fight  for  it.  Men  have  died 
fighting  for  the  impossible  because  they  knew  it  was  right, 
and,  by  dying  for  it,  they  have  brought  it  to  pass." 

"Far  be  it  from  me,  McNish,  to  deny  that.  But  I  am 
asking  you  now,  again  as  man  to  man,  do  you  know  of 
any  industry,  even  in  the  Old  Land,  where  the  closed  shop 
absolutely  prevails,  and  do  you  think  that  conditions  in 

[215] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


Blackwater  give  you  the  faintest  hope  of  a  closed  shop 
here?" 

"Yes,"  shouted  McNish,  springing  to  his  feet,  "there 
is  hope.  There  is  hope  even  in  Blackwater." 

"Tut,  tut,  laddie,"  said  his  mother.  "Dinna  deeve  us. 
What  has  come  ower  ye  that  ye  canna  talk  like  a  reason- 
able man?  Noo,  Mr.  Matheson,  ye've  had  enough  of  the 
labour  matters.  All  mak  ye  a  cup  of  tea." 

"Thank  you,  Mrs.  McNish,"  said  the  minister  gravely, 
"but  I  cannot  linger.  I  have  still  work  to  do  to-night." 
He  rose  from  his  chair  and  found  his  coat.  His  manner 
was  gravely  sad  and  gave  evidence  of  his  disappointment 
with  the  evening's  conversation. 

"Dinna  fash  yerself,  minister,"  said  the  old  lady,  help- 
ing him  on  with  his  coat.  "The  'trouble'  will  blow  ower, 
a  doot.  It'll  a'  come  oot  richt." 

"Mrs.  McNish,  what  I  have  seen  and  heard  in  this 
house  to-night,"  said  the  minister  solemnly,  "gives  me 
little  hope  that  it  will  all  come  right,  but  rather  gives  me 
grave  concern."  Then,  looking  straight  into  the  eyes  of 
her  son,  he  added :  "I  came  here  expecting  to  find  help  and 
guidance  in  discovering  a  reasonable  way  out  of  a  very 
grave  and  serious  difficulty.  I  confess  I  have  been  dis- 
appointed." 

"Mr.  Matheson,"  said  McNish,  "I  am  always  glad  to 
discuss  any  matter  with  you  in  a  reasonable  and  kindly 
way." 

"I  am  afraid  my  presence  has  not  helped  very  much, 
Mrs.  McNish,"  said  Maitland.  "I  am  sorry  I  came  to- 
night. I  did  come  earnestly  desiring  and  hoping  that  we 
might  find  a  way  out.  It  seems  I  have  made  a  mistake." 

"You  came  at  my  request,  Maitland,"  said  the  minister. 
"If  a  mistake  has  been  made,  it  is  mine.  Good-night, 
Mrs.  McNish.  Good-night,  Malcolm.  I  don't  pretend 
[216] 


LIGHT  THAT  IS  DARKNESS 


to  know  or  understand  what  is  in  your  heart,  but  I  am 
going  to  say  to  you  as  your  minister  that  where  there  is 
evil  passion  there  can  be  no  clear  thinking.  And  further, 
let  me  say  that  upon  you  will  devolve  a  heavy  responsi- 
bility for  the  guidance  you  give  these  men.  Good-night 
again.  Remember  that  One  whom  we  both  acknowledge 
as  the  source  of  all  true  light  said:  'If  the  light  that  is  in 
thee  be  darkness,  how  great  is  that  darkness.' '  He 
shook  hands  first  with  the  mother,  then  with  the  son, 
who  turned  away  from  him  with  a  curt  "Good-night" 
and  nodded  to  Maitland. 

For  a  moment  or  two  neither  of  the  men  spoke.  They 
were  both  grievously  disappointed  in  the  interview. 

"I  never  saw  him  like  that,"  said  the  Reverend  Murdo 
at  length.  "What  can  be  the  matter  with  him?  With 
him  passion  is  darkening  counsel." 

"Well,"  said  Maitland,  "I  have  found  out  one  thing 
that  I  wanted." 

"And  what  is  that?" 

"These  men  clearly  do  not  want  what  they  are  asking 
for.  They  want  chiefly  war — at  least,  McNish  does." 

"I  am  deeply  disappointed  in  McNish,"  replied  the 
minister,  "and  I  confess  I  am  anxious.  McNish,  above 
all  others,  is  the  brains  of  this  movement,  and  in  that 
mood  there  is  little  hope  of  reason  from  him.  I  fear  it 
will  be  a  sore  fight,  with  a  doubtful  issue." 

"Oh,  I  don't  despair,"  said  Maitland  cheerily.  "I  have 
an  idea  he  has  a  quarrel  with  me.  He  wants  to  get  me. 
But  we  can  beat  him." 

The  Reverend  Murdo  waited  for  a  further  explanation, 
but  was  too  much  of  a  gentleman  to  press  the  point  and 
kept  silent  till  they  reached  his  door. 

"You  will  not  desert  us,  Mr.  Matheson,"  said  Maitland 
earnestly. 

[217] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


"Desert  you?  It  is  my  job.  These  people  are  my 
people.  We  cannot  desert  them." 

"Right  you  are,"  said  Maitland.  "Cheerio.  We'll 
carry  on.  He  shook  hands  warmly  with  the  minister 
and  went  off,  whistling  cheerily. 

"That  is  a  man  to  follow,"  said  the  minister  to  himself. 
"He  goes  whistling  into  a  fight." 


[218] 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE    STRIKE 

The  negotiations  between  the  men  and  their  employers, 
in  which  the  chief  exponents  of  the  principles  of  justice 
and  fair  play  were  Mr.  McGinnis  on  the  one  hand  and 
Brother  Simmons  on  the  other,  broke  down  at  the  second 
meeting,  which  ended  in  a  vigorous  personal  encounter 
between  these  gentlemen,  without,  however,  serious  injury 
to  either. 

The  following  day  a  general  strike  was  declared.  All 
work  ceased  in  the  factories  affected  and  building  opera- 
tions which  had  begun  in  a  moderate  way  were  arrested. 
Grant  Maitland  was  heartily  disgusted  with  the  course 
of  events  and  more  especially  with  the  humiliating  and 
disgraceful  manner  in  which  the  negotiations  had  been 
conducted. 

"You  were  quite  right,  Jack,"  he  said  to  his  son  the 
morning  after  which  the  strike  had  been  declared.  "That 
man  McGinnis  is  quite  impossible." 

"It  really  made  little  difference,  Dad.  The  negotiations 
were  hopeless  from  the  beginning.  There  was  no  chance 
of  peace." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  McNish  wants  war."  He  proceeded  to  give 
an  account  of  the  evening  spent  at  the  McNish  home. 
"When  McNish  wants  peace,  we  can  easily  end  the  strike," 
concluded  Jack. 

"There  is  something  in  what  you  say,  doubtless," 
replied  his  father,  "but  meantime  there  is  a  lot  to  be 
done." 

[219] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


"What  do  you  mean  exactly,  Father?" 

"We  have  a  lot  of  stock  made  up  on  hand.  The  market 
is  dead  at  present  prices.  There  is  no  hope  of  sales. 
The  market  will  fall  lower  still.  I  propose  that  we  take 
our  loss  and  unload  at  the  best  rate  we  can  get." 

"That  is  your  job,  Dad.  I  know  little  about  that,  but 
I  believe  you  are  right.  I  have  been  doing  a  lot  of  read- 
ing in  trade  journals  and  that  sort  of  thing,  and  I  believe 
that  a  big  slump  is  surely  coming.  But  there  is  a  lot  to 
do  in  my  department  at  the  Mills,  also.  I  am  not  satisfied 
with  the  inside  arrangement  of  our  planing  mill.  There 
is  a  lot  of  time  wasted  and  there  is  an  almost  complete 
lack  of  co-ordination.  Here  is  a  plan  I  want  to  show 
you.  The  idea  is  to  improve  the  routing  of  our  work." 

Maitland  glanced  at  the  plan  perfunctorily,  more  to 
please  his  son  than  anything  else.  But,  after  a  second 
glance,  he  became  deeply  interested  and  began  to  ask 
questions.  After  half  an  hour's  study  he  said: 

"Jack,  this  is  really  a  vast  improvement.  Strange,  I 
never  thought  of  a  great  many  of  these  things." 

"I  have  been  reading  up  a  bit,  and  when  I  was  on  my 
trip  two  weeks  ago  I  looked  in  upon  two  or  three  of  the 
plants  of  our  competitors.  I  believe  this  will  be  more 
up-to-date  and  will  save  time  and  labour." 

"I  am  sure  it  will,  boy.  And  we  will  put  this  in  hand 
at  once.  But  what  about  men?" 

"Oh,  we  can  pick  up  labourers,  and  that  is  all  we  want 
at  the  present  time." 

"All  right,  go  at  it.     I  will  give  you  a  hand  myself." 

"Then  there  is  something  else,  Dad.  We  ought  to  have 
a  good  athletic  field  for  our  men." 

His  father  gasped  at  him. 

"An  athletic  field  for  those  ungrateful  rascals?" 

"Father,  they  are  not  rascals,"  said  his  son.  "They 
[220] 


THE  STRIKE 


are  just  the  same  to-day  as  they  ever  were.  A  decent 
lot  of  chaps  who  don't  think  the  same  as  we  do  on  a 
number  of  points.  But  they  are  coming  back  again  some 
time  and  we  may  as  well  be  ready  for  them.  Look  at 
this." 

And  before  Grant  Maitland  could  recover  his  speech 
he  found  himself  looking  at  a  beautifully-drawn  plan  of 
athletic  grounds  set  out  with  walks,  shade  trees  and 
shrubbery,  and  with  a  plain  but  commodious  club-house 
appearing  in  the  background. 

"And  where  do  you  get  this  land,  and  what  does  it 
cost  you?" 

"The  land,"  replied  Jack,  "is  your  land  about  the  old 
mill.  It  will  cost  us  nothing,  I  hope.  The  old  mill  site 
contains  two  and  one-half  acres.  It  can  be  put  in  shape 
with  little  work.  The  mill  itself  is  an  eyesore;  ought 
to  have  been  removed  long  ago.  Dad,  you  ought  to  have 
seen  the  plant  at  Violetta,  that  is  in  Ohio,  you  know. 
It  is  a  joy  to  behold.  But  never  mind  about  that.  The 
lumber  in  the  old  mill  can  be  used  up  in  the  club-house. 
The  timbers  are  wonderful;  nothing  like  them  to-day 
anywhere.  The  outside  finishing  will  be  done  with  slabs 
from  our  own  yard.  They  will  make  a  very  pretty  job." 

"And  where  do  you  get  the  men  for  this  work?"  in- 
quired his  father. 

"Why,  our  men.  It  is  for  themselves  and  they  are 
our  men." 

"Voluntary  work,  I  suppose?"  inquired  Maitland. 

"Voluntary  work?"  said  Jack.  "We  couldn't  have 
men  work  for  us  for  nothing." 

"And  you  mean  to  pay  them  for  the  construction  of 
their  own  athletic  grounds  and  club-house?" 

"But  why  not?"  inquired  Jack  in  amazement. 

His  father  threw  back  his  head  and  began  to  laugh. 

[221] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


"This  is  really  the  most  extraordinary  thing  I  have 
ever  heard  of  in  all  my  life,"  he  said,  after  he  had  done 
with  his  laugh.  "Your  men  strike;  you  prepare  for 
them  a  beautiful  club-house  and  athletic  grounds  as  a 
reward  for  their  loyalty.  You  pay  them  wages  so  that 
they  may  be  able  to  sustain  the  strike  indefinitely."  Again 
he  threw  back  his  head  and  continued  laughing  as  Jack 
had  never  in  his  life  heard  him  laugh. 

"Why  not,  Dad?"  said  Jack,  gazing  at  his  father  in 
half-shamed  perplexity.  "The  idea  of  athletic  grounds 
and  club-house  is  according  to  the  best  modern  thought. 
These  are  our  own  men.  You  are  not  like  McGinnis. 
You  are  not  enraged  at  them.  You  don't  hate  them. 
They  are  going  to  work  for  us  again  in  some  days  or 
weeks.  They  are  idle  and  therefore  available  for  work. 
You  can  get  better  work  from  them  than  from  other  men. 
And  you  wouldn't  take  their  work  from  them  for  nothing." 

Again  his  father  began  to  laugh.  "Your  argument, 
Jack,"  he  said  when  he  was  able  to  control  his  speech, 
"is  absolutely  unanswerable.  There  is  no  answer  possible 
on  any  count;  but  did  ever  man  hear  of  such  a  scheme? 
Did  you?" 

"I  confess  not.  But,  Dad,  you  are  a  good  sport.  We 
are  out  to  win  this  fight,  but  we  don't  want  to  injure 
anybody.  We  are  going  to  beat  them,  but  we  don't  want 
to  abuse  them  unnecessarily.  Besides,  I  think  it  is  good 
business.  And  then,  you  see,  I  really  like  these  chaps." 

"Simmons,  for  instance?"  said  his  father  with  an 
ironical  smile. 

"Well,  Simmons,  just  as  much  as  you  can  like  an  ass." 

"And  McNish?"  inquired  Maitland. 

"McNish,"  echoed  Jack,  a  cloud  falling  upon  his  face. 
"I  confess  I  don't  understand  McNish.     At  least,"  he 
[222] 


THE  STRIKE 


added,  "I  am  sorry  for  McNish.  But  what  do  you  say 
to  my  scheme,  Dad?" 

"Well,  boy,"  said  his  father,  beginning  to  laugh  again, 
"give  me  a  night  to  think  it  over." 

Then  Jack  departed,  not  quite  sure  of  himself  or  of 
the  plan  which  appeared  to  give  his  father  such  intense 
amusement.  "At  any  rate,"  he  said  to  himself  as  he 
walked  out  of  the  office,  "if  it  is  a  joke  it  is  a  good  one. 
And  it  has  given  the  governor  a  better  laugh  than  he 
has  had  for  five  years." 

The  Mayor  of  Blackwater  was  peculiarly  sensitive  to 
public  opinion  and  acutely  susceptible  of  public  approval. 
In  addition,  he  was  possessed  of  a  somewhat  exalted  idea 
of  his  powers  as  the  administrator  in  public  affairs,  and 
more  particularly  as  a  mediator  in  times  of  strife.  He 
had  been  singularly  happy  in  his  mediation  between  the 
conflicting  elements  in  his  Council,  and  more  than  once 
he  had  been  successful  in  the  composing  of  disputes  in 
arbitration  cases  submitted  to  his  judgment.  Moreover, 
he  had  an  eye  to  a  second  term  in  the  mayor's  chair, 
which  gubernatorial  and  majestical  office  gave  full  scope 
to  the  ruling  ambition  of  his  life,  which  was,  in  his  own 
words,  "to  guard  the  interests  and  promote  the  well-being 
of  my  people." 

The  industrial  strike  appeared  to  furnish  him  with  an 
opportunity  to  gratify  this  ambition.  He  resolved  to  put 
an  end  to  this  unnecessary  and  wasteful  struggle,  and  to1 
that  end  he  summoned  to  a  public  meeting  his  fellow 
citizens  of  all  classes,  at  which  he  invited  each  party  in 
the  industrial  strife  to  make  a  statement  of  their  case, 
in  the  hope  that  a  fair  and  reasonable  settlement  might 
be  effected. 

The  employers  were  more  than  dubious  of  the  issue, 
having  but  a  small  idea  of  the  mayor's  power  of  control 

[223] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


and  less  of  his  common-sense.  Brother  Simmons,  how- 
ever, foreseeing  a  magnificent  field  for  the  display  of  his 
forensic  ability,  a  thing  greatly  desired  by  labour  leaders 
of  his  kidney,  joyfully  welcomed  the  proposal.  McNish 
gave  hesitating  assent,  but,  relying  upon  his  experience 
in  the  management  of  public  assemblies  and  confident  of 
his  ability  to  shape  events  to  his  own  advantage,  he  finally 
agreed  to  accept  the  invitation. 

The  public  meeting  packed  the  City  Hall,  with  repre- 
sentatives of  both  parties  in  the  controversy  in  about  equal 
numbers  and  with  a  great  body  of  citizens  more  or  less 
keenly  interested  in  the  issue  of  the  meeting  and  expectant 
of  a  certain  amount  of  "fun."  The  Mayor's  opening 
speech  was  thoroughly  characteristic.  He  was  impressed 
with  the  responsibility  that  was  his  for  the  well-being  of 
his  people.  Like  all  right-thinking  citizens  of  this  fair 
town  of  Blackwater,  he  deeply  regretted  this  industrial 
strife.  It  interfered  with  business.  It  meant  loss  of 
money  to  the  strikers.  It  was  an  occasion  of  much  in- 
convenience to  the  citizens  and  it  engendered  bitterness 
of  feeling  that  might  take  months,  even  years,  to  remove. 
He  stood  there  as  the  friend  of  the  working  man.  He  was 
a  working  man  himself  and  was  proud  of  it.  He  believed 
that  on  the  whole  they  were  good  fellows.  He  was  a 
friend  also  of  the  employers  of  labour.  What  could  we 
do  without  them  ?  How  could  our  great  industries  pros- 
per without  their  money  and  their  brains?  The  one 
thing  necessary  for  success  was  co-operation.  That  was 
the  great  word  in  modern  democracy.  In  glowing  periods 
he  illustrated  this  point  from  their  experiences  in  the  war. 
All  they  wanted  to  do  was  to  sit  down  together,  and,  man 
to  man,  talk  their  difficulties  over.  He  would  be  glad 
to  assist  them,  and  he  had  no  doubt  as  to  the  result. 
He  warned  the  working  man  that  hard  times  were  coming, 
[224] 


THE  STRIKE 


The  spectre  of  unemployment  was  already  parading  their 
streets.  Unemployment  meant  disorder,  rioting.  This, 
he  assured  them,  would  not  be  permitted.  At  all  costs 
order  would  be  maintained.  He  had  no  wish  to  threaten, 
but  he  promised  them  that  the  peace  would  be  preserved 
at  all  costs.  He  suggested  that  the  strikers  should  get 
back  at  once  to  work  and  the  negotiations  should  proceed 
in  the  meantime. 

At  this  point  Brother  Simmons  rose. 

"The  mpyor  (h) urges  the  workers  to  get  back  to 
work,"  he  said,  "Does  'e  mean  at  (h) increased  pay,  or 
not?  'E  says  as  'ow  this  strike  interferes  with  business. 
'E  doesn't  tell  us  what  business.  But  I  can  tell  'im  it 
(h) interferes  with  the  business  of  robbery  of  the  workin' 
man.  'E  deplores  the  loss  of  money  to  the  strikers.. 
Let  me  tell  'im  that  the  workin'  men  are  prepared  to 
suffer  that  loss.  True,  they  'ave  no  big  bank  accounts 
to  carry  'em  on,  but  there  are  things  that  they  love  more 
than  money — liberty  and  justice  and  the  rights  of  the 
people.  What  are  we  strikin'  for?  Nothin'  but  what 
is  our  own.  The  workin'  man  makes  (h) everything  that 
is  made.  What  percentage  of  the  returns  does  'e  get  in 
wages?  They  won't  tell  us  that.  Last  year  these  fac- 
tories were  busy  in  the  makin'  o'  munitions.  Mr.  Mc- 
Ginnis  'ere  was  makin'  shells.  I'd  like  to  (h)ask,  Mr. 
Mayor,  what  profit  Mr.  McGinnis  made  out  of  these 
shells."  , 

Air.  McGinnis  sprang  to  his  feet,  "I  want  to  tell  you," 
he  said  in  a  voice  choking  with  rage,  "that  it  is  none  of 
your  high-explosive  business."  . 

"  'E  says  as  it  is  none  o'  my  business,"  cried  Brother 
Simmons,  joyously  taking  Mr.  McGinnis  on.  "Let  me 
(h)ask  'im  who  paid  for  these  shells?  I  did,  you  did, 
all  of  us  did.  Not  my  business?  Then  'ose  business  is 

[225] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


it?  (H)If  'e  was  paid  a  fair  price  for  'is  shells,  (h)all 
right,  I  say  nothin'  against  it.  If  'e  was  paid  more  than 
a  fair  price,  then  'e  is  a  robber,  worse,  'e  is  a  blood  robber, 
because  the  price  was  paid  in  blood." 

At  once  a  dozen  men  were  on  their  feet.  Cries  of 
"Order!  Order!"  and  "Put  him  out!"  arose  on  every 
hand.  The  mayor  rose  from  his  chair  and,  in  an  impres- 
sive voice,  said:  "We  must  have  order.  Sit  down,  Mr. 
Simmons."  Simmons  sat  down  promptly.  Union  men 
are  thoroughly  disciplined  in  points  of  order.  "We  must 
have  order,"  continued  the  mayor.  "I  will  not  permit 
any  citizen  to  be  insulted.  We  all  did  our  bit  in  this 
town  of  Blackwater.  Some  of  us  went  to  fight,  and  some 
that  could  not  go  to  fight  'kept  the  home  fires  burning'." 
A  shout  of  derisive  laughter  from  the  working  men 
greeted  this  phrase.  The  mayor  was  deeply  hurt.  "I 
want  to  say  that  those  who  could  not  go  to  the  war  did 
their  bit  at  home.  Let  the  meeting  proceed,  but  let  us 
observe  the  courtesies  that  are  proper  in  debate." 

Again  Simmons  took  the  floor.     "As   I  was  sayin', 

Mr,  Mayor " 

,     Cries  of  "Order!  Order!  Sit  down!" 

" — Mr.  Mayor,  I  believe  I  'ave  the  floor?" 
"Yes,  you  have.     Go  on.     But  you  must  not  insult." 
"(H)  Insult?    Did  I  (h) insult  anybody?    I  don't  know 
what  Mr.  McGinnis  made  from  'is  shells,     I  only  said 
that  if — you   (h) understand — if  'e  made  more  than  'e 
ought  to,  'e  is  a  robber.     And  since  the  price  of  our 
freedom  was  paid  in  blood,  if  'e  made  more  than  was 
fair,  'e's  a  blood  robber." 

Again  the  cries  arose.     "Throw  him  out !"     Once  more 
the  mayor  rose.     "You  must  not  make  insinuations,  sir," 
he  cried   angrily.     "You   must   not   make   insinuations 
against  respectable  citizens." 
[226] 


THE  STRIKE 


"(H)Insinooations,"  cried  Simmons,  "No,  sir,  I  never 
make  no  (h)insinooations.  If  I  knew  that  (h)any  man 
'ere  'ad  made  (h) unfair  profits  I  wouldn't  make  no 
(h)insinooations.  I  would  charge  'im  right  'ere  with 
blood  robbery.  And  let  me  say,"  shouted  Simmons, 
taking  a  step  into  the  aisle,  "that  the  time  may  come  when 
the  working  men  of  this  country  will  make  these  charges, 
and  will  (h)ask  the  people  who  kept  the  ''ome  fires 
burning' " 

Yells  of  derisive  laughter. 

" — what  profits  came  to  them  from  these  same  'ome 
fires.  The  people  will  (h)ask  for  an  (h) explanation  of 
these  bank  accounts,  of  these  new  factories,  of  these  big 
stores,  of  these  (h)autermobiles.  The  people  that  went 
to  the  war  and  were  (h)unfortoonate  enough  to  return 
came  back  to  poverty,  while  many  of  these  'ere  'ome  fire 
burners  came  (h)out  with  fortunes."  At  this  point 
brother  Simmons  cast  a  fierce  and  baleful  eye  upon  a 
group  of  the  employers  who  sat  silent  and  wrathful  before 
him.  "And  now,  what  I  say,"  continued  Brother  Sim- 
mons  

At  this  point  a  quiet  voice  was  heard. 

"Mr.  Mayor,  I  rise  to  a  point  of  order." 

Immediately  Simmons  took  his  seat, 

"Mr.  Farrington,"  said  the  mayor,  recognising  one  of 
the  largest  building  contractors  in  the  town. 

"Mr.  Mayor,  I  should  like  to  ask  what  are  we  discuss- 
ing this  afternoon?  Are  we  discussing  the  war  records 
of  the  citizens  of  Black  water?  If  so,  that  is  not  what 
I  came  for.  It  may  be  interesting  to  find  out  what  each 
man  did  in  the  war.  I  find  that  those  who  did  most 
say  least.  I  don't  know  what  Mr.  Simmons  did  in  the 
war.  I  suppose  he  was  there." 

With  one  spring  Simmons  was  on  his  feet  and  in  the 

[227] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


aisle.  He  ripped  off  coat  and  vest,  pulled  his  shirt  over 
his  head  and  revealed  a  back  covered  with  the  network 
of  ghastly  scars.  "The  gentleman  (h)asks,"  he  panted, 
"what  I  done  in  the  war.  I  don't  know.  I  cannot  say 
what  I  done  in  the  war,  but  that  is  what  the  war  done 
to  me."  The  effect  was  positively  overwhelming. 

A  deadly  silence  gripped  the  audience  for  a  single 
moment.  Then  upon  every  hand  rose  fierce  yells,  oaths 
and  strange  cries.  Above  the  uproar  came  Farrington's 
booming  voice.  Leaving  his  seat,  which  was  near  the 
back  of  the  hall,  he  came  forward,  crying  out: 

"Mr.  Mayor!  Mr.  Mayor!  I  demand  attention!'' 
As  he  reached  Simmons's  side,  he  paused  and,  facing 
about,  he  looked  upon  the  array  of  faces  pale  and  tense 
with  passion.  "I  want  to  apologise  to  this  gentleman," 
he  said  in  a  voice  breaking  with  emotion.  "I  should  not 
have  said  what  I  did.  The  man  who  bears  these  scars  is 
a  man  I  am  proud  to  know."  He  turned  swiftly  toward 
Simmons  with  outstretched  hand.  "I  am  proud  to  know 
you,  sir.  I  could  not  go  to  the  war.  I  was  past  age. 
I  sent  my  two  boys.  They  are  over  there  still."  As  the 
two  men  shook  hands,  for  once  in  his  life  Simmons  was 
speechless.  His  face  was  suffused  with  uncontrollable 
feeling.  On  every  side  were  seen  men,  strong  men,  with 
tears  streaming  down  their  faces.  A  nobler  spirit  seemed 
to  fall  upon  them  all.  In  the  silence  that  followed,  Mr. 
Maitland  rose. 

"Mr.  Mayor,"  he  said  quietly,  "we  have  all  suffered 
together  in  this  war.  I,  for  one,  want  to  do  the  fair 
thing  by  our  men.  Let  us  meet  them  and  talk  things  over 
before  any  fair-minded  committee.  Surely  we  who  have 
suffered  together  in  war  can  work  together  in  peace." 
It  was  a  noble  appeal,  and  met  with  a  noble  response, 
[228] 


THE  STRIDE 


On  all  sides  and  from  all  parties  a  storm  of  cheers  broke 
forth. 

Then  the  Reverend  Murdo  Matheson  rose  to  his  feet. 

"Mr.  Mayor,"  he  said,  "I  confess  I  was  not  hopeful 
of  the  result  of  this  meeting.  But  I  am  sure  we  all 
recognise  the  presence  and  influence  of  a  mightier  Spirit 
than  ours.  From  the  outset  I  have  been  convinced  that 
the  problems  in  the  industrial  situation  here  are  not 
beyond  solution,  and  should  yield  to  fair  and  reasonable 
consideration.  I  venture  to  move  that  a  committee  of 
five  be  appointed,  two  to  be  chosen  by  each  of  the  parties 
in  this  dispute,  who  would  in  turn  choose  a  chairman; 
that  this  committee  meet  with  representatives  of  both 
parties ;  and  that  their  decision  in  all  cases  be  final." 

Mr.  Farrington  rose  and  heartily  seconded  the  motion. 

At  this  point  Jack,  who  was  sitting  near  the  platform 
and  whose  eyes  were  wandering  over  the  audience,  was 
startled  by  the  look  on  the  face  of  McNish.  It  was  a 
look  in  which  mingled  fear,  anxiety,  wrath.  He  seemed 
to  be  on  the  point  of  starting  to  his  feet  when  McGinnis 
broke  in: 

"Do  I  understand  that  the  decision  of  this  committee 
is  to  be  final  on  every  point?" 

"Certainly,"  said  the  Reverend  Murdo.  "There  is  no 
other  way  by  which  we  can  arrive  at  a  decision." 

"Do  you  mean,"  cried  McGinnis,  "that  if  this  committee 
says  I  must  hire  only  union  men  in  my  foundry  that  I 
must  do  so?" 

"I  would  reply,"  said  the  Reverend  Murdo,  "that  we 
must  trust  this  committee  to  act  in  a  fair  and  reasonable 
way." 

But  Mr.  McGinnis  was  not  satisfied  with  this  answer. 

"I  want  to  know,"  he  cried  in  growing  anger,  "I  want 
to  know  exactly  where  we  are  and  I  want  a  definite  answer. 

[229] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


Will  this  committee  have  the  right  to  force  me  to  employ 
only  union  men?" 

"Mr.  Mayor,"  replied  the  Reverend  Murdo,  "Mr.  Mc- 
Ginnis  is  right  in  asking  for  definiteness.  My  answer  is 
that  we  must  trust  this  committee  to  do  what  is  wise  and 
reasonable,  and  we  must  accept  their  decision  as  final  in 
every  case." 

Thereupon  McGinnis  rose  and  expressed  an  earnest 
desire  for  a  tragic  and  unhappy  and  age-long  fate  if  he 
would  consent  to  any  such  proposition.  With  terrible 
swiftness  the  spirit  of  the  meeting  was  changed.  The 
moment  of  lofty  emotion  and  noble  impulse  passed.  The 
opportunity  for  reason  and  fair  play  to  determine  the 
issue  was  lost,  and  the  old  evil  spirit  of  suspicion  and 
hate  fell  upon  the  audience  like  a  pall. 

At  this  point  McNish,  from  whose  face  all  anxiety  had 
disappeared,  rose  and  said: 

"For  my  part,  and  speaking  for  the  working  men  of 
this  town,  I  am  ready  to  accept  the  proposal  that  has  been 
made.  tWe  have  no  fear  for  the  justice  of  our  demands 
like  some  men  here  present.  We  know  we  have  the  right 
on  our  side  and  we  are  willing  to  accept  the  judgment 
of  such  a  committee  as  has  been  proposed."  The  words 
were  fair  enough,  but  the  tone  of  sneering  contempt  was 
so  irritating  that  immediately  the  position  assumed  by 
McGinnis  received  support  from  his  fellow  employers  on 
every  hand.  Once  more  uproar  ensued.  The  mayor,  in 
a  state  of  angry  excitement,  sought  in  vain  to  restore  order. 

After  some  minutes  of  heated  altercation  with  Mr. 
McGinnis,  whom  he  threatened  with  expulsion  from  the 
meeting,  the  mayor  finally  left  the  chair  and  the  meeting 
broke  up  in  disorder  which  threatened  to  degenerate  into 
a  series  of  personal  encounters. 

Again  McNish  took  command.     Leaping  upon  a  chair 
[230] 


THE  STRIKE 


with  a  loud  voice  which  caught  at  once  the  ears  of  his 
following,  he  announced  that  a  meeting  was  to  be  held 
immediately  in  the  union  rooms,  and  he  added:  "When 
these  men  here  want  us  again,  they  know  where  to  find 
us.."  He  was  answered  with  a  roar  of  approval,  and  with 
an  ugly  smile  on  his  face  he  led  his  people  in  triumph1 
from  the  hall,  leaving  behind  the  mayor,  still  engaged 
in  a  heated  argument  with  McGinnis  and  certain  employers 
who  sympathised  with  the  Irishman's  opinions.  Thus 
the  strike  passed  into  another  and  more  dangerous  phase. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

GATHERING   CLOUDS 

On  the  Rectory  lawn  a  hard-fought  game  had  just 
finished,  bringing  to  a  conclusion  a  lengthened  series 
of  contests  which  had  extended  over  a  whole  week,  in 
which  series  Patricia,  with  her  devoted  cavalier,  Victor 
Forsythe,  had  been  forced  to  accept  defeat  at  the  hands  of 
her  sister  and  her  partner,  Hugh  Maynard. 

"Partner,  you  were  wonderful  in  that  last  set!"  said 
Patricia,  as  they  moved  off  together  to  offer  their  con- 
gratulations to  their  conquerors. 

"Patsy,"  said  her  partner,  in  a  low  voice,  "as  ever, 
you  are  superb  in  defeat  as  in  victory.  Superb,  unap- 
proachable, wonderful." 

"Anything  else,  Vic?"  inquired  Patsy,  grinning  at  the 
youth. 

"Oh,  a  whole  lot  more,  Pat,  if  you  only  give  me  a 
chance  to  tell  you." 

"No  time  just  now,"  cried  Patricia  as  she  reached  the 
others.  "Well,  you  two  deserved  to  win.  You  played 
ripping  tennis,"  she  continued,  offering  Hugh  her  hand. 

"So  did  you,  Pat.  You  were  at  the  very  top  of  your 
form." 

"Well,  some  other  day,"  said  Vic.  "I  think  we  are 
improving  a  bit,  partner.  A  little  more  close  harmony 
will  do  the  trick." 

"Come  away,  children,"  said  Mrs.  Templeton,  calling 
to  them  from  the  shade  at  the  side  of  the  courts.    "You 
must  be  very  tired  and  done  out.     Why,  how  hot  you 
look,  Patricia." 
[232] 


GATHERING  CLOUDS 


"Stunning,  I  should  say!"  murmured  Vic,  looking  at 
her  with  adoring  eyes. 

And  a  truly  wonderful  picture  the  girl  made,  in  her 
dainty  muslin  frock,  her  bold  red  hair  tossed  in  a  splendid 
aureole  about  her  face.  Care-free,  heart-free,  as  she 
flashed  from  her  hearty  blue  eyes  her  saucy  and  bewitch- 
ing glances  at  her  partner's  face,  her  mother  sighed, 
thinking  that  her  baby  girl  was  swiftly  slipping  away 
from  her  and  forever  into  that  wider  world  of  woman- 
hood where  others  would  claim  her. 

In  lovely  contrast  stood  her  sister,  dressed  in  flannel 
skirt  and  sweater  of  old  gold  silk,  fair,  tall,  beautiful,  a 
delicate  grace  in  every  line  of  her  body  and  a  proud,  yet 
gentle  strength  in  every  feature  of  her  face.  There 
dwelt  in  her  deep  blue  eyes  a  look  of  hidden,  mysterious 
power  which  had  wrought  in  her  mother  a  certain  fear  of 
her  eldest  daughter.  The  mother  never  quite  knew  what 
to  expect  from  Adrien.  Yet,  for  all,  she  carried  an 
assured  confidence  that  whatever  she  might  do,  her  daugh- 
ter never  would  shame  the  high  traditions  of  her  race. 

The  long  shadows  from  the  tall  elms  lay  across  the 
velvet  sward  of  the  Rectory  lawn.  The  heat  of  the  early 
June  day  had  given  place  to  the  cool  air  of  the  evening. 
The  exquisitely  delicate  colouring  from  the  setting  sun 
flooded  the  sky  overhead  and  deepened  into  blues  and 
purples  behind  the  elms  and  the  church  spire.  A  deep 
peace  had  fallen  upon  the  world  except  that  from  the  top- 
most bough  of  the  tallest  elm  tree  a  robin  sang,  pouring 
his  very  heart  out  in  a  song  of  joyous  optimism. 

The  little  group,  disposed  upon  the  lawn  according  to 
their  various  desires,  stood  and  sat  looking  up  at  the 
brave  little  songster. 

"How  happy  he  is,"  said  Mrs.  Templeton,  a  wistful 
cadence  of  sadness  in  her  voice. 

[233] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


"I  wonder  if  he  is,  Mamma.  Perhaps  he  is  only  pre- 
tending," said  Adrien. 

"Cheerio,  old  chap  I"  cried  Vic,  waving  his  hand  at  the 
gallant  little  songster.  "You  are  a  regular  grouch  killer." 

"He  has  no  troubles,"  said  Mrs.  Templeton,  with  a 
sigh. 

"I  wonder,  Mamma.     Or  is  he  just  bluffing  us  all?" 

"He  has  no  strike,  at  any  rate,  to  worry  him,"  said 
Patricia,  "and,  by  the  way,  what  is  the  news  to-day? 
Does  anybody  know?  Is  there  any  change?" 

"Oh,"  cried  Vic,  "there  has  been  a  most  exciting  morn- 
ing at  the  E.  D.  C. — the  Employers'  Defence  Committee," 
he  explained,  in  answer  to  Mrs.  Templeton's  mystified 
look. 

"Do  go  on !"  cried  Patricia  impatiently.  "Was  there  a 
fight?  They  are  always  having  one." 

"Of  course  there  was  the  usual  morning  scrap,  but 
with  a  variation  to-day  of  a  deputation  from  the  brethren 
of  the  Ministerial  Association.  But,  of  course,  Mrs. 
Templeton,  the  Doctor  must  have  told  you  already." 

"I  hardly  ever  see  him  these  days.  He  is  dreadfully 
occupied.  There  is  so  much  trouble,  sickness  and  that  sort 
of  thing.  Oh,  it  is  all  terribly  sad.  The  Doctor  is  almost 
worn  out." 

"He  made  a  wonderful  speech  to  the  magnates,  my 
governor  says." 

"Oh,  go  on,  Vic!"  cried  Patricia.  "Why  do  you  stop? 
You  are  so  deliberate." 

"I  was  thinking  of  that  speech,"  replied  Victor  more 
quietly  than  was  his  wont.  "It  came  at  a  most  dramatic 
moment.  The  governor  was  quite  worked  up  over  it  and 
gave  me  a  full  account.  They  had  just  got  all  their  re- 
ports in— 'all  safe  along  the  Potomac'— no  break  in  the 
front  line — Building  Industries  slightly  shaky  due  to 
[234] 


GATHERING  CLOUDS' 


working  men's  groups  taking  on  small  contracts,  which 
excited  great  wrath  and  which  McGinnis  declared  must 
be  stopped." 

"How  can  they  stop  them?  This  is  a  free  country," 
said  Adrien. 

"Aha!"  cried  Victor.  "Little  you  know  of  the  re- 
sources of  the  E.  D.  C.  It  is  proposed  that  the  supply 
dealers  should  refuse  supplies  to  all  builders  until  the 
strike  is  settled.  No  more  lumber,  lime,  cement,  etc.,  etc." 

"Boycott,  eh?    I  call  that  pretty  rotten,"  said  Adrien. 

"The  majority  were  pretty  much  for  it,  however,  except 
Maitland  and  my  governor,  they  protesting  that  this  boy- 
cott was  hardly  playing  the  game.  Your  friend  Captain 
Jack  came  in  for  his  licks,"  continued  Vic,  turning  to 
Patricia.  "It  appears  he  has  been  employing  strikers  in 
some  work  or  other,  which  some  of  the  brethren  consid- 
ered to  be  not  according  to  Hoyle." 

"Nonsense!"  cried  Patricia  indignantly.  "Jack  took 
me  yesterday  to  see  the  work.  He  showed  me  all  the 
plans  and  we  went  over  the  grounds.  It  is  a  most  splen- 
did thing,  Mamma!  He  is  laying  out  athletic  grounds 
for  his  men,  with  a  club  house  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
They  are  going  to  be  perfectly  splendid!  Do  you  mean 
to  say  they  were  blaming  him  for  this?  Who  was?" 
And  Patricia  stood  ready  for  battle. 

"Kamerad!"  cried  Vic,  holding  up  his  hands.  "Not 
me!  However,  Jack  was  exonerated,  for  it  appears  he 
sent  them  a  letter  two  weeks  ago,  telling  them  what  he 
proposed  to  do,  to  which  letter  they  had  raised  no  objec- 
tion." 

"Well,  what  then  ?"  inquired  Patricia. 

"Oh,  the  usual  thing.  They  all  resolved  to  stand  pat — 
no  surrender — or,  rather,  let  the  whole  line  advance — you 
know  the  stuff — when  into  this  warlike  atmosphere  walked 

[235] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


the  deputation  from  the  Ministerial  Association.  It  gave 
the  E.  D.  C.  a  slight  shock,  so  my  Dad  says.  The  Doctor 
fired  the  first  gun.  My  governor  says  that  it  was  like  a 
breath  from  another  world.  His  face  was  enough. 
Everybody  felt  mean  for  just  being  what  they  were.  I 
know  exactly  what  that  is,  for  I  know  the  way  he  makes 
me  feel  when  I  look  at  him  in  church.  You  know  what 
I  mean,  Pat." 

"I  know,"  said  Patricia  softly,  letting  her  hand  fall 
upon  her  mother's  shoulder. 

"Well,"  continued  Vic,  "the  Doctor  just  talked  to  them 
as  if  they  were  his  children.  They  hadn't  been  very 
good  and  he  was  sorry  for  them.  He  would  like  to  help 
them  to  be  better.  The  other  side,  too,  had  been  doing 
wrong,  and  they  were  having  a  bad  time.  They  were 
suffering,  and  as  he  went  on  to  tell  them  in  that  wonderful 
voice  of  his  about  the  women  and  children,  every  man  in 
the  room,  so  the  governor  said,  was  wondering  how  much 
he  had  in  his  pocket.  And  then  he  told  them  of  how 
wicked  it  was  for  men  whose  sons  had  died  together  in 
France  to  be  fighting  each  other  here  in  Canada.  Well, 
you  know  my  governor.  As  he  told  me  this  tale,  we  just 
both  of  us  bowed  our  heads  and  wept.  It's  the  truth, 
so  help  me,  just  as  you  are  doing  now,  Pat." 

"I  am  not,"  cried  Patricia  indignantly.  "And  I  don't 
care  if  I  am.  He  is  a  dear  and  those  men  are  just " 

"Hush,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Templeton  gently.  "And  did 
they  agree  to  anything?" 

"Alas,  not  they,  for  at  that  moment  some  old  Johnny 
began  asking  questions  and  then  that  old  fire-eater,  Mc- 
Ginnis,  horned  in  again.  No  Arbitration  Committee  for 
him — no  one  could  come  into  his  foundry  and  tell  him 
how  to  run  his  business — same  old  stuff,  you  know.  Well, 
[236] 


GATHERING  CLOUDS 


then,  the  Methodist  Johnny  took  a  hand.  What's  his 
name?  Haynes,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes,  Haynes,"  said  Hugh  Maynard. 

"Well,  Brother  Haynes  took  up  the  tale.  He  is  an 
eloquent  chap,  all  right.  He  took  the  line  'As  you  are 
strong,  be  pitiful,'  but  the  psychological  moment  had  gone 
and  the  line  still  held  strong.  Campbell  of  the  woollen 
mills  invited  him  up  to  view  his  $25,000.00  stock  'all 
dressed  up  and  nowhere  to  go.'  'Tell  me  how  I  can  pay 
increased  wages  with  this  stock  on  my  hands.'  And  echo 
answered  'How?'  Haynes  could  not.  Then  my  old 
chief  took  a  hand — the  Reverend  Murdo  Matheson.  He 
is  a  good  old  scout,  a  Padre,  you  know — regular  fire-eater 
— a  rasping  voice  and  grey  matter  oozing  from  his  pores. 
My  governor  says  he  abandoned  the  frontal  attack  and 
took  them  on  the  flank.  Opened  up  with  a  dose  of  eco- 
nomics that  made  them  sit  up.  And  when  he  got  through 
on  this  line,  he  made  every  man  feel  that  it  was  entirely 
due  to  the  courtesy  and  forbearance  of  the  union  that 
he  was  allowed  to  carry  on  business  at  all.  He  spiked 
Brother  McGinnis's  guns  by  informing  him  that  if  he  was 
harbouring  the  idea  that  he  owned  a  foundry  all  on  his 
own,  he  was  labouring  under  a  hallucination.  All  he  owned 
was  a  heap  of  brick  and  mortar  and  some  iron  and  steel 
junk  arranged  in  some  peculiar  way.  In  fact,  there  was 
no  foundry  there  till  the  workmen  came  in  and  started 
the  wheels  going  round.  Old  McGinnis  sat  gasping  like 
a  chicken  with  the  pip.  Then  the  Padre  turned  on  the 
'Liberty  of  the  subject'  stop  as  follows :  'Mr.  McGinnis 
insists  upon  liberty  to  run  his  foundry  as  he  likes;  in- 
sists upon  perfect  freedom  of  action.  There  is  no  such 
thing  as  perfect  freedom  of  action  in  modern  civilisation. 
For  instance,  Mr.  McGinnis  rushing  to  catch  a  train,  hurls 
his  Hudson  Six  gaily  down  Main  Street  thirty  miles  an 

[237] 


hour,  on  the  left-hand  side  of  the  street  A  speed  cop 
sidles  up,  whispers  a  sweet  something  in  his  ear,  hails 
him  ignominiously  into  court  and  invites  him  to  contribute 
to  the  support  of  the  democracy  fifty  little  iron  men  as  an 
evidence  of  his  devotion  to  the  sacred  principle  of  per- 
sonal liberty.  In  short,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  personal 
liberty  in  this  burg,  unless  it  is  too  late  for  the  cop  to  see.' 
The  governor  says  McGinnis's  face  afforded  a  perfect 
study  in  emotions.  I  should  have  liked  to  have  seen  it. 
The  Padre  never  took  his  foot  off  the  accelerator.  He 
took  them  all  for  an  excursion  along  the  'Responsibility' 
line:  personal  responsibility,  mutual  responsibility,  com- 
munity responsibility  and  every  responsibility  known  to 
the  modern  mind.  And  then  when  he  had  them  eating 
out  of  his  hand,  he  offered  them  two  alternatives :  an  Ar- 
bitration Committee  as  formerly  proposed,  or  a  Concilia- 
tion Board  under  the  Lemieux  Act.  My  governor  says  it 
was  a  great  speech.  He  had  'em  all  jumping  through 
the  hoops." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Vic?"  lamented  Mrs.  Templeton. 
"I  have  only  the  very  vaguest  idea  of  what  you  have  been 
saying  all  this  time." 

"So  sorry,  Mrs.  Templeton.  What  I  mean  is  the 
Padre  delivered  a  most  effective  speech." 

"And  did  they  settle  anything?"  inquired  Patricia. 

"I  regret  to  say,  Patricia,  that  your  friend  Rupert " 

"My  friend,  indeed!"  cried  Patricia. 

"Who  comforts  you  with  bonbons,"  continued  Vic,  ig- 
noring her  words,  "and  stays  you  with  joy  rides,  inter- 
posed at  this  second  psychological  crisis.  He  very  cleverly 
moves  a  vote  of  thanks,  bows  out  the  deputation,  thanking 
them  for  their  touching  addresses,  and  promising  consid- 
eration. Thereupon,  as  the  door  closed,  he  proceeded  to 
sound  the  alarm  once  more,  collected  the  scattered  forces 
[238] 


GATHERING  CLOUDS 


flung  the  gage  of  battle  in  the  teeth  of  the  enemy,  dared 
them  to  do  their  worst,  and  there  you  are." 

"And  nothing  done?"  cried  Adrien.    "What  a  shame." 

"What  I  cannot  understand  is,"  said  Hugh,  "why  the 
unions  do  not  invoke  the  Lemieux  Act?" 

"Aha!"  said  Vic.  "Why?  .The  same  question  rose 
to  my  lips." 

"The  Lemieux  Act  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Templeton. 

"Yes.  You  know,  Mrs.  Templeton,  either  party  in  dis- 
pute can  ask  for  a  Board  of  Conciliation,  not  Arbitration, 
you  understand.  This  Board  has  power  to  investigate — 
bring  out  all  the  facts — and  failing  to  effect  conciliation, 
makes  public  its  decision  in  the  case,  leaving  both  parties 
at  the  bar  of  public  opinion." 

"But  I  cannot  understand  why  the  unions  do  not  ask 
for  this  Conciliation  Board." 

"I  fear,  Hugh,"  said  Victor  in  an  awed  and  solemn 
voice,  "that  there  is  an  Ethiopian  in  the  coal  bin." 

"What  does  he  mean,  Patricia?" 

"He  means  that  there  is  something  very  dark  and 
mysterious,  Mamma." 

"So  there  is,"  said  Hugh.  "The  unions  will  take  an 
Arbitration  Committee,  which  the  employers  decline  to 
give,  but  they  will  not  ask  for  a  Conciliation  Board." 

"My  governor  says  it's  a  bluff,"  said  Vic.  "The 
unions  know  quite  well  that  McGinnis  et  hoc  genus  omne 
will  have  nothing  to  do  with  an  Arbitration  Committee. 
Hence  they  are  all  for  an  Arbitration  Committee.  On 
the  other  hand,  neither  the  unions  nor  McGinnis  are 
greatly  in  love  with  the  prying  methods  of  the  Concilia- 
tion Board,  and  hence  reject  the  aid  of  the  Lemieux  Act." 

"But  why  should  they  all  be  dominated  by  a  man  like 
McGinnis?"  demanded  Adrien.  "Why  doesn't  some  em- 

[239] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


ployer  demand  a  Conciliation  Board  ?     He  can  get  it,  you 
know.'* 

"They  naturally  stand  together,"  said  Hugh. 

"But  they  won't  long.  Maitland  declares  that  he  will 
take  either  board,  and  that  if  the  committee  cannot  agree 
which  to  choose,  he  will  withdraw  and  make  terms  on 
his  own.  He  furthermore  gave  them  warning  that  if 
any  strike-breakers  were  employed,  of  which  he  had  heard 
rumours,  he  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  bunch." 

"Strike-breakers?"  said  Adrien,  "That  would  cer- 
tainly mean  serious  trouble." 

"Indeed,  you  are  jolly  well  right,"  said  Vic,  "We  will 
all  be  in  it  then.  Civic  guard!  Special  police!  'Shun! 
Fix  bayonets!  Prepare  for  cavalry!  Eh?" 

"Oh,  how  terrible  it  all  is,"  said  Mrs.  Templeton. 

"Nonsense,  Vic,"  said  Hugh.  "Don't  listen  to  him, 
Mrs,  Templeton.  We  will  have  nothing  of  that  sort." 

"Well,  it  is  all  very  sad,"  said  Mrs.  Templeton.  "But 
here  is  Rupert.  He  will  give  us  the  latest." 

But  Rupert  appeared  unwilling  to  talk  about  the  meet- 
ing of  the  morning.  He  was  quite  certain,  however,  that 
the  strike  was  about  to  break.  He  had  inside  information 
that  the  resources  of  the  unions  were  almost  exhausted. 
The  employers  were  tightening  up  all  along  the  line, 
credits  were  being  refused  at  the  stores,  the  unions  were 
torn  with  dissension,  the  end  was  at  hand. 

"It  would  be  a  great  mercy  if  it  would  end  soon,"  said 
Mrs.  Templeton.  "It  is  a  sad  pity  that  these  poor  people 
are  so  misguided." 

"It  is  a  cruel  shame,  Mrs.  Templeton,"  said  Rupert  in- 
dignantly. "I  have  it  from  scores  of  them  that  they 
didn't  want  to  strike  at  all.  They  were  getting  good 
wages — the  wage  scale  has  gone  up  steadily  during  the 
war  to  the  present  extravagant  height." 
[240] 


GATHERING  CLOUDS 


"The  cost  of  living  has  gone  up  much  more  rapidly, 
I  believe,"  said  Adrien.  "The  men  are  working  ten  hours 
a  day,  the  conditions  under  which  they  labour  are  in  some 
cases  deplorable;  that  McGinnis  foundry  is  a  ghastly 
place,  terribly  unhealthy;  the  girls  in  many  of  the  fac- 
tories are  paid  wages  so  shamefully  low  that  they  can 
hardly  maintain  themselves  in  decency,  and  they  are  con- 
tinually being  told  that  they  are  about  to  be  dismissed. 
The  wrong's  not  all  on  one  side,  by  any  means.  To  my 
mind,  men  like  McGinnis  who  are  unwilling  to  negotiate 
are  a  menace  to  the  country." 

"You  are  quite  right,  Adrien,"  replied  Hugh.  "I  con- 
sider him  a  most  dangerous  man.  That  sort  of  pig- 
headed, bull-headed  employer  of  labour  does  more  to  pro- 
mote strife  than  a  dozen  'walking  delegates.'  I  am  not 
terribly  strong  for  the  unions,  but  the  point  of  vantage 
is  always  with  the  employers.  And  they  have  a  lot  to 
learn.  Oh,  you  may  look  at  me,  Adrien!  I  am  no 
bolshevist,  but  I  see  a  lot  of  these  men  in  our  office." 


£241] 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE   STORM 

Slowly  the  evening  was  deepening  into  night,  but  still 
the  glow  from  the  setting  sun  lingered  in  the  western 
sky.  The  brave  little  songster  had  gone  from  the  top  of 
the  elm  tree,  but  from  the  shrubbery  behind  the  church  a 
whippoorwill  was  beginning  to  tune  his  pipe. 

"Oh,  listen  to  the  darling!"  cried  Patricia.  "I  haven't 
heard  one  for  a  long,  long  time." 

"There  used  to  be  a  great  many  in  the  shrubbery  here, 
and  in  the  old  days  the  woods  nearby  were  full  of  them 
in  the  evenings,"  said  Mrs.  Templeton. 

As  they  sat  listening  for  the  whippoorwill's  voice,  they 
became  aware  of  other  sounds  floating  up  to  their  ears 
from  the  town.  The  hum  of  passing  motors,  the  high, 
shrill  laughter  of  children  playing  in  the  streets,  the  clang 
of  the  locomotive  bell  from;  the  railroad  station,  all 
softened  by  distance.  But  as  they  listened  there  came 
another  sound  like  nothing  they  had  ever  heard  in  that 
place  before.  A  strange,  confused  rumbling,  with  cries 
jutting  out  through  the  dull,  rolling  noise.  A  little  later 
came  the  faint  clash  of  rhythmic,  tumultuous  cheering. 
Patricia's  quick  ears  were  the  first  to  catch  the  sound. 

"Hush!"  she  cried.     "What  is  that  noise?" 

Again  came  the  rumbling  sound,  punctuated  with  quick 
volleys  of  cheering.  The  men  glanced  at  each  other. 
They  knew  well  that  sound,  a  sound  they  had  often  heard 
during  the  stirring  days  of  the  war,  in  the  streets  of 
the  great  cities  across  the  seas,  and  in  other  places,  too, 
[242] 


THE  STORM 


where  men  were  wont  to  crowd.     As  they  listened  in 
tense  silence,  there  came  the  throbbing  of  a  drum. 

"My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Templeton  faintly  to  her  eldest 
daughter,  "I  think  I  shall  go  in." 

At  once  Hugh  offered  her  his  arm,  while  Adrien  took 
the  other,  and  together  they  led  her  slowly  into  the  house. 

Meanwhile  the  others  tumbled  into  Rupert's  car  and 
rdptored  down  to  the  gate,  and  there  waited  the  approach 
of  what  seemed  to  be  a  procession  of  some  sort  or  other. 

At  the  gate  Dr.  Templeton,  returning  from  his  pastor 
visitations,  found  them  standing. 

"Come  here,  Papa !"  cried  Patricia.  "Let  us  wait  here. 
There  is  something  coming  up  the  street." 

"But  what  is  it?"  asked  Dr.  Templeton.  "Does  any- 
body know?" 

"I  guess  it  is  a  strikers'  parade,  sir.  I  heard  that  they 
were  to  organise  a  march-out  to-night.  It  is  rather  a 
ridiculous  thing." 

Through  the  deepening  twilight  they  could  see  at  the 
head  of  the  column  and  immediately  before  the  band,  a 
double  platoon  of  young  girls  dressed  in  white,  under 
the  command  of  an  officer  distinguished  from  the  others 
by  her  red  sash,  all  marching  with  a  beautiful  precision 
to  the  tap  of  the  drum.  As  the  head  of  the  column  drew 
opposite,  Patricia  touched  Vic's  arm. 

"Vic!"  she  cried.  "Look!  Look  at  that  girl!  It  is 
Annette !" 

"My  aunt!  So  it  is!"  cried  Vic.  "Jove!  What  a 
picture  she  makes!  What  a  swing!" 

Behind  that  swinging  company  of  girls  came  the  band, 
marching  to  the  tapping  of  the  drum  only.  Then  after 
a  space  came  a  figure,  pathetic,  arresting,  moving — a 
woman,  obviously  a  workman's  wife,  of  middle  age,  grey, 
work  worn,  and  carrying  a  babe  of  a  few  months  in  her 

[243] 


arms,  marched  alone.  Plainly  dressed,  her  grey  head 
bare,  she  walked  proudly  erect  but  with  evident  signs  of 
weariness.  The  appearance  of  that  lone,  weary,  grey- 
haired  woman  and  her  helpless  babe  struck  hard  upon  the 
heart  with  its  poignant  appeal,  choking  men's  throats  and 
bringing  hot  tears  to  women's  eyes.  Following  that  lonely 
figure  came  one  who  was  apparently  the  officer  in  com- 
mand of  the  column.  As  he  came  opposite  the  gate,  his 
eye  fell  upon  the  group  there.  Swiftly  he  turned  about, 
and,  like  a  trumpet,  his  voice  rang  out  in  command : 

"Ba-t-t-a-a-lion,  halt!!     R-r-r-i-g-h-t  turn!!" 

Immediately  the  whole  column  came  to  a  halt  and  faced 
toward  the  side  of  the  street  where  stood  the  group  within 
the  shadow  of  the  gate. 

"I  am  going  to  get  Annette,"  said  Patricia  to  her  father, 
and  she  darted  off,  returning  almost  immediately  with  the 
leader  of  the  girls'  squad. 

"What  does  this  mean,  Annette?  What  are  you 
doing?  It  is  a  great  lark!"  cried  Patricia. 

"Well,  it  is  not  exactly  a  lark,"  answered  Annette,  with 
a  slight  laugh.  "You  see,  we  girls  want  to  help  out  the 
boys.  We  are  strikers,  too,  you  know.  They  asked  us 
to  take  part  in  the  parade,  and  here  we  are.  But  it's  got 
away  past  being  a  lark,"  she  continued,  her  voice  and 
face  growing  stern.  "There  is  a  lot  of  suffering  among 
the  workers.  I  know  all  my  money  has  gone,"  she  added, 
after  a  moment,  with  a  gay  laugh. 

Meantime,  the  officer  commanding  the  column  had 
spoken  a  few  words  to  the  leader  of  the  band,  and  in 
response,  to  the  surprise  and  dismay  of  the  venerable 
Doctor,  the  band  struck  up  that  rollicking  air  associated 
with  the  time-honoured  chorus,  "For  He's  a  Jolly  Good 
Fellow."  Then  all  stood  silent,  gazing  at  the  Doctor, 
who,  much  embarrassed,  could  only  gaze  back  in  return, 
[244] 


THE  STORM 


"Papa,  dear,"  said  Adrian,  who  with  Hugh  Maynard 
had  joined  them)  at  the  gate,  "you  will  have  to  speak  to 
them." 

"Speak  to  them,  my  dear?  What  in  the  world  could 
I  say?  I  have  nothing  to  say  to  them." 

"Oh,  but  you  must,  Papa !     Just  thank  them." 

"And  tell  them  you  are  all  for  them,  Daddy!"  added 
Patricia  impulsively. 

Then  the  old  Doctor,  buttoning  his  coat  tightly  about 
him  and  drawing  himself  erect,  said: 

"Rupert,  please  run  your  car  out  to  the  road.  Thank 
you."  Mounting  the  car,  he  stood  waiting  quietly  till 
the  cheering  had  died  down  into  silence,  his  beautiful, 
noble,  saintly  face  lit  with  the  faint  glow  that  still  came 
from  the  western  sky  but  more  with  the  inner  light  that 
shines  from  a  soul  filled  with  high  faith  in  God  and 
compassion  for  man. 

"Gentlemen "  he  began. 

"Ladies,  too,  Papa,"  said  Patricia  in  a  clear  undertone. 

"Ah !"  corrected  the  Doctor.  "Ladies  and  Gentlemen :" 
while  a  laugh  ran  down  the  line.  "One  generally  begins 
a  speech  with  the  words  'I  am  glad  to  see  you  here.' 
These  words  I  cannot  say  this  evening.  I  regret  more 
deeply  than  you  can  understand  the  occasion  of  your 
being  here  at  all.  And  in  this  regret  I  know  that  you  all 
share.  But  I  am  glad  that  I  can  say  from  my  heart  that 
I  feel  honoured  by  and  deeply  moved  by  the  compliment 
you  have  just  paid  me  through  your  band.  I  could  wish, 
indeed,  that  I  was  the  'jolly  good  fellow'  you  have  said, 
but  as  I  look  at  you  I  confess  I  am  anything  but  'jolly.' 
I  have  been  in  too  many  of  your  homes  during  the  last 
three  weeks  to  be  jolly.  The  simple  truth  is,  I  am  deeply 
saddened  and,  whatever  be  the  rights  or  wrongs,  and  all 
fair-minded  men  will  agree  that  there  are  rights  and 

[245] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


wrongs  on  both  sides,  my  heart  goes  out  in  sympathy  to 
all  who  are  suffering  and  anxious  and  fearful  for  the 
future.  I  will  try  to  do  my  best  to  bring  about  a  better 
understanding." 

"We  know  that,  sir,"  shouted  a  voice.  "Ye  done  yer 
best." 

"But  so  far  I  and  those  labouring  with  me  have  failed. 
But  surely,  surely,  wise  and  reasonable  men  can  find 
before  many  days  a  solution  for  these  problems.  And 
now  let  me  beg  your  leaders  to  be  patient  a  little  longer, 
to  banish  angry  and  suspicious  feelings  and  to  be  willing 
to  follow  the  light.  I  see  that  many  of  you  are  soldiers. 
To  you  my  heart  goes  out  with  a  love  as  true  as  if  you 
were  my  own  sons,  for  you  were  the  comrades  of  my  son. 
Let  me  appeal  to  you  to  preserve  unbroken  that  fine  spirit 
of  comradeship  that  made  the  Canadian  Army  what  it 
was.  And  let  me  assure  you  all  that,  however  our  weak 
and  erring  human  hearts  may  fail  and  come  short,  the 
great  heart  of  the  Eternal  Father  is  unchanging  in  Its 
love  and  pity  for  us  all.  Meantime,  believe  me,  I  shall 
never  cease  to  labour  and  pray  that  very  soon  peace  may 
come  to  us  again."  Then,  lifting  his  hands  over  them 
while  the  men  uncovered,  he  said  a  brief  prayer,  closing 
with  the  apostolic  blessing. 

Startled  at  the  burst  of  cheering  which  followed  shortly 
after  the  conclusion  of  the  prayer,  the  babe  broke  into 
loud  crying.  Vainly  the  weary  mother  sought  to  quiet 
her  child,  she  herself  well-nigh  exhausted  with  her  march, 
being  hardly  able  to  stand  erect.  Swiftly  Adrien  sprang 
from  the  car  and  ran  out  to  her. 

"Let  me  carry  the  babe,"  she  cried,  taking  the  child  in 
her  arms.  "Come  into  the  car  with  me." 

"No,"  said  the  woman  fiercely.  "I  will  go  through 
[246] 


THE  STORM 


with  it."     But  even  as  she  spoke  she  swayed  upon  her 
feet. 

With  gentle  insistence,  however,  Adrien  caught  her 
arm  and  forced  her  toward  the  car. 

"I  will  not  leave  them,"  said  the  woman  stubbornly. 

"Speak  to  her,  Annette,"  said  Adrien.  "She  cannot 
walk." 

"Mrs.  Egan,"  said  Annette,  coming  to  her,  "it  will  be 
quite  all  right  to  go  in  the  car.  It  will  be  all  the  better. 
Think  of  the  fine  parade  it  will  make." 

But,  still  protesting,  the  old  woman  hung  back,  crying, 
"Let  me  go!  I  will  go  through!" 

"Sure  thing !"  cried  Patricia.  "LWe  will  take  you  along. 
Where's  Rupert?" 

But  Rupert,  furious  and  disgusted,  hung  back  in  the 
shadow. 

"Here,  Vic!"  cried  Patricia.     "You  take  the  wheel!" 

"Delighted,  I  am  sure!"  cried  Vic,  climbing  into  the 
seat.  "Get  in  here,  Patsy.  All  set,  Colonel,"  he  added, 
saluting  to  the  officer  in  command  of  the  parade,  and 
again  the  column  broke  into  cheering  as  they  moved  off 
to  the  tap  of  the  drum,  Rupert's  elegant  Hudson  Six 
taking  a  place  immediately  following  the  band. 

"All  my  life  I  have  longed  for  the  spotlight,"  mur- 
mured Vic  to  his  companion,  a  delighted  grin  on  his  face. 
"But  one  can  have  too  much  of  a  good  thing.  And,  with 
Wellington,  I  am  praying  that  night  may  come  before  I 
reach  the  haunts  of  my  comrades  in  arms." 

"Why,  Vic,  do  you  care?"  cried  Patricia.  "Not  I! 
And  I  think  it  was  just  splendid  of  Adrien!" 

"Oh,  topping!  But  did  you  see  the  gentle  Rupert's 
face?  Oh,  it  was  simply  priceless!  Fancy  this  sacred 
car  leading  a  strikers'  parade."  And  Vic's  body  shook 
with  delighted  chuckles. 

[247] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


"Don't  laugh,  Vic!"  said  Patricia,  laying  her  hand 
upon  his  arm.  "The  lady  behind  will  see  you." 

"Steady  it  is,"  said  Vic.  "But  I  feel  as  if  I  were  the 
elephant  in  the  circus.  I  say,  can  we  execute  a  flank 
movement,  or  must  we  go  through  to  the  bitter  end?" 

"Adrien,"  said  Patricia,  "do  you  think  this  night  air 
is  good  for  the  baby?" 

"We  shall  go  on  a  bit  yet,"  said  Adrien.  "Mrs.  Egan 
is  very  tired  and  I  am,  sure  will  want  to  go  home 
presently." 

But  Mrs.  Egan  was  beginning  to  recover  her  strength 
and,  indeed,  to  enjoy  the  new  distinction  of  riding  in  a 
car,  and  in  this  high  company. 

"No,"  she  said,  "I  must  go  through."  She  had  the 
look  and  tone  of  a  martyr.  "They  chose  me,  you  see, 
and  I  must  go  through!" 

"Oh,  very  well,"  said  Adrien  cheerfully.  "We  shall 
just  go  along,  Vic." 

Through  the  main  streets  of  the  town  the  parade 
marched  and  countermarched  till,  in  a  sudden,  they  found 
themselves  in  front  of  the  McGinnis  foundry.  Before 
the  gate  in  the  high  board  fence  which  enclosed  the  prop- 
erty, a  small  crowd  had  gathered,  which  greeted  the 
marching  column  with  uproarious  cheers.  From  the 
company  at  the  gate  a  man  rushed  forward  and  spoke 
eagerly  to  the  officer  in  command. 

"By  Jove,  there's  Tony!"  said  Vic.  "And  that  chap 
McDonough.  What  does  this  mean?" 

After  a  brief  conversation  with  Tony,  who  apparently 
was  passionately  pressing  his  opinion,  the  officer  shook 
his  head  and  marched  steadily  forward.  Suddenly  Tony, 
climbing  upon  the  fence,  threw  up  his  hand  and,  pointing 
toward  the  foundry,  shouted  forth  the  single  word, 
"Scabs !"  Instantly  the  column  halted.  Again  Tony,  in 
[248] 


THE  STORM 


a  yell,  uttered  the  same  word,  "Scabs !"  From  hundreds 
of  throats  there  was  an  answering  roar,  savage,  blood- 
thirsty as  from  a  pack  of  wild  beasts.  Tony  waved  his 
hand  for  silence. 

"Scabs !"  he  cried  again.  "McGinnis  strike-breakers ! 
They  came  to-night.  They  are  in  there !"  He  swung  his 
arm  around  and  pointed  to  the  foundry.  "Shall  we  give 
them  a  welcome?  What  do  you  say,  boys?"  Again  and 
more  fiercely  than  before,  more  terribly  cruel,  came  the 
answering  roar. 

"Here,  this  is  no  place  for  you!"  cried  Vic.  "Let's 
get  out."  At  his  touch  the  machine  leaped  forward,  clear 
of  the  crowd. 

"Annette !"  cried  Adrien,  her  hand  on  Vic's  shoulder. 
"Go  and  get  her!" 

Halting  the  car,  Vic  leaped  from  the  wheel,  ran  to 
where  the  girls'  squad  was  halted  and  caught  Annette 
by  the  arm. 

"Annette,"  he  said,  "get  your  girls  away  from  here 
quick!  Come  with  us!" 

But  Annette  laughed  scornfully  at  him. 

"Go  with  you?  Not  I !  But,"  she  added  in  a  breath- 
less undertone,  "for  God's  sake,  get  your  ladies  and  the 
baby  away.  These  people  won't  know  who  you  are. 
Move  quick!" 

"Come  with  us,  Annette!"  implored  Vic.  "If  you 
come,  the  rest  will  follow." 

"Go !  Go  !"  cried  Annette,  pushing  him.  Already  the 
crowd  were  tearing  the  fence  to  pieces  with  their  hands, 
and  rocks  were  beginning  to  fly. 

Failing  to  move  the  girl,  Vic  sprang  to  the  wheel 
again. 

"I  will  get  you  away  from  this,  anyway,"  he  said. 

"But  Annette !"  cried  Patricia.  "We  can't  leave  her !" 

[249] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


But  Vic  made  no  reply,  and  at  his  touch  the  machine 
leaped  forward,  and  none  too  soon,  for  already  men  were 
crowding  about  the  car  on  every  side. 

"We  are  well  out  of  that !"  said  Vic  coolly.  "And  now 
I  will  take  you  all  home.  Hello!  They're  messing  up 
McGinnis's  things  a  bit,"  he  added,  as  the  sound  of  crash- 
ing glass  came  to  their  ears. 

Through  the  quiet  streets  the  car  flew  like  a  hunted 
thing,  and  in  a  very  few  minutes  they  were  at  the 
R>ectory  door. 

"No  fuss,  now,  Patricia,"  said  Adrien.  "We  must 
not  alarm  Mamma.  All  steady." 

"Right  you  are !  Steady  it  is !"  said  Patricia  spring- 
ing from  the  car.  Quietly  but  swiftly  they  got  the  woman 
and  the  child  indoors. 

"Hugh!  Rupert!"  said  Adrien,  speaking  in  a  quiet 
voice.  "Vic  needs  you  out  there.  That  is  a  wild  car 
of  yours,  Rupert,"  she  added  with  a  laugh.  "It  fairly 
flies."  Gathering  in  her  hands  the  men's  hats  and  sticks, 
she  hurried  them  out  of  the  door. 

"Cheerio!"  cried  Vic.  "A  lovely  war  is  going  on 
down  at  the  McGinnis  plant.  Get  in  and  let  us  plan  a 
campaign.  First,  to  Police  Headquarters,  I  suppose." 
As  they  flew  through  the  streets  Vic  gave  them  in  a  few 
words  a  picture  of  the  scenes  he  had  just  witnessed. 

They  found  the  Chief  of  Police  in  his  office.  At  their 
first  word  he  was  on  the  move. 

"I  was  afraid  of  this  thing  when  that  fool  parade 
started,"  he  said.  "Sergeant,  send  out  the  general  alarm !" 

"How  many  men  have  you,  Chief  ?"  inquired  Hugh. 

"About  twenty-five,  all  told.  But  they  are  all  over 
the  town.  How  many  men  are  down  there  ?" 

"There  are  five  hundred,  at  least ;  possibly  a  thousand, 
raging  like  wild  bulls  of  Bashan." 


THE  STORM 


As  he  spoke,  another  car  came  tearing  up  and  Jack 
Maitland  sprang  from  the  wheel. 

"Are  you  in  need  of  help,  Chief?"  he  asked  quietly. 

"All  the  good  men  we  can  get,"  said  the  Chief  curtly. 
"But  first  we  must  get  the  Mayor  here.  Sergeant,  get 
him  on  the  phone." 

"You  go  for  him,  Vic,"  said  Jack. 

"Righto!"  cried  Vic.     "But  count  me  in  on  this." 

In  fifteen  minutes  Vic  was  back  with  the  Mayor,  help- 
less with  nervous  excitement. 

"Get  your  men  out,  Chief !"  he  shouted,  as  he  sprang 
from  the  car.  "Get  them  out  quick,  arrest  those  devils  and 
lock  'em  up !  We'll  show  them  a  thing  or  two !  Hurry 
up !  What  are  you  waiting  for  ?" 

"Mr.  Mayor,"  Jack's  clear,  firm,  cool  voice  arrested 
the  Mayor's  attention.  "May  I  suggest  that  you  swear 
in  some  special  constables?  The  Chief  will  need  help 
and  some  of  us  here  would  be  glad  to  assist." 

"Yes !  Yes !  For  God's  sake,  hurry  up !  Here's  the 
clerk.  How  do  you  swear  them  in,  clerk?" 

"The  Chief  of  Police  has  all  the  necessary  authority." 

"All  right,  Chief.  Swear  them!  Swear  them!  For 
heaven's  sake,  swear  them!  Here,  you,  Maitland — and 
you,  Maynard — and  Stillvvell " 

With  cool,  swift  efficiency  born  of  his  experience  in 
the  war,  the  Chief  went  on  with  his  arrangements.  In  his 
hands  the  process  of  swearing  in  a  number  of  special  con- 
stables was  speedily  accomplished.  Meantime  many  cars 
and  a  considerable  number  of  men  had  gathered  about 
the  Police  Headquarters. 

"What  is  that  light?"  cried  the  Mayor  suddenly,  point- 
ing in  the  direction  of  the  foundry.  "It's  a  fire !  My  God, 
Chief,  do  you  see  that  fire  ?  Hurry  up !  Why  don't  you 
hurry  up  ?  They  will  burn  the  town  down." 

[251] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


"All  right,  Mr.  Mayor,"  said  the  Chief.  "We  shall  be 
there  in  a  few  minutes  now.  Captain  Maitland,"  said  the 
Chief,  "I  will  take  the  men  I  have  with  me.  Will  you 
swear  in  all  you  can  get  within  the  next  fifteen  or  twenty 
minutes,  and  report  to  me  at  the  foundry  ?  Sergeant,  you 
come  along  with  me!  I'm  off!"  So  saying,  the  Chief 
commandeered  as  many  cars  as  were  necessary,  packed 
them  with  the  members  of  his  police  force  available  and 
with  the  specials  he  had  secured,  and  hurried  away. 

After  the  Chief  had  retired,  Jack  stood  up  in  his  car. 
"Any  of  you  chaps  want  to  get  into  this?"  he  said,  ad- 
dressing the  crowd.  His  voice  was  cheery  and  cool.  At 
once  a  dozen  voices  responded.  "Righto!"  "Here  you 
are!"  "Put  me  down!"  In  less  than  fifteen  minutes,  he 
had  secured  between  forty  and  fifty  men. 

"I  want  all  these  cars,"  he  said.  "Get  in,  men.  Hold 
on!"  he  shouted  at  a  driver  who  had  thrown  in  his 
clutch.  "Let  no  man  move  without  orders!  Any  man 
disobeying  orders  will  be  arrested  at  once!  Remember 
that  no  guns  are  to  be  used,  no  matter  what  provocation 
may  be  given.  Even  if  you  are  fired  on,  don't  fire  in 
return !  Does  any  man  know  where  we  can  get  anything 
in  the  shape  of  clubs?" 

"Hundreds  of  axe  handles  in  our  store,"  said  Rupert. 

"Right  you  are !  Drivers,  fall  in  line.  Keep  close  up. 
Now,  Mr.  Mayor,  if  you  please." 

Armed  with  axe  handles  from  Stillwell  &  Son's  store, 
they  set  off  for  the  scene  of  action.  Arrived  at  the 
foundry  they  found  the  maddest,  wildest  confusion  rag- 
ing along  the  street  in  front  of  the  foundry,  and  in  the 
foundry  yard  which  was  crowded  with  men.  The  board 
fence  along  the  front  of  the  grounds  had  been  torn  down 
and  used  as  fagots  to  fire  the  foundry,  which  was  blazing 
merrily  in  a  dozen  places.  Everywhere  about  the  blaz- 
[252] 


THE  STORM 


ing  building  parties  of  men  like  hounds  on  the  trail  were 
hunting  down  strike-breakers  and,  on  finding  them,  were 
brutally  battering  them  into  insensibility. 

Driving  his  car  through  the  crowd,  Maitland  found  his 
way  to  the  Chief.  In  a  few  short,  sharp  sentences,  the 
Chief  explained  his  plan  of  operations.  "Clear  the  street 
in  front,  and  hold  it  so!  Then  come  and  assist  me  in 
clearing  this  yard." 

"All  right,  sir!"  replied  Maitland,  touching  his  hat  as 
to  a  superior  officer,  and,  wheeling  his  car,  he  led  his 
men  back  to  the  thronging  street. 

Meantime,  the  Fire  Department  had  arrived  upon  the 
scene  with  a  couple  of  engines,  a  hose  reel  and  other  fire- 
fighting  apparatus,  the  firemen  greatly  hampered  in  their 
operations. 

Swinging  his  car  back  through  the  crowd,  Maitland 
made  his  way  to  the  street,  and  set  to  work  to  clear  the 
space  immediately  in  front  of  the  foundry.  Parking 
his  cars  at  one  end  of  the  street,  and  forming  his  men  up 
in  a  single  line,  he  began  slowly  to  press  back  the  crowd. 
It  was  slow  and  difficult  work,  for  the  crowd,  unable  to 
recognise  his  ununiformed  special  constables,  resented 
their  attack. 

He  called  Victor  to  his  side.  "Get  a  man  with  you," 
he  said,  "and  bring  up  two  cars  here." 

"Come  along,  Rupert,"  cried  Victor,  seizing  Stillwell, 
and  together  they  darted  back  to  where  the  cars  stood. 
Mounting  one  of  the  cars,  Maitland  shouted  in  a  loud 
voice : 

"The  Chief  of  Police  wants  this  street  cleared.  So  get 
back,  please !  We  don't  wish  to  hurt  anyone.  Now,  get 
back!"  And  lining  up  level  with  the  cars,  the  special 
constables  again  began  to  press  forward,  using  their  axe 

[253] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


handles  as  bayonets  and  seeking  to  prod  their  way 
through. 

High  up  on  a  telegraph  pole,  his  foot  on  one  of  the 
climbing  spikes,  was  a  man  directing  and  encouraging  the 
attack.  As  he  drew  near,  Maitland  discovered  this  man 
to  be  no  other  than  Tony,  wildly  excited  and  vastly  enjoy- 
ing himself. 

"Come  down,  Tony !"  he  said.     "Hurry  up !" 

"Cheerio,  Captain!'"  shouted  Tony.  "What  about 
Festubert?" 

"Come  down,  Tony,"  said  Maitland,  "and  be  quick 
about  it!" 

"Sorry,  can't  do  it,  Captain.    I  am  a  fixture  here." 

Like  a  cat,  Maitland  swarmed  up  the  pole  and  coming 
to  a  level  with  Tony,  struck  him  swiftly  and  unexpectedly 
a  single  blow.  It  caught  Tony  on  the  chin.  He  swung 
off  from  the  post,  hung  a  moment,  then  dropped  quietly 
to  the  ground.  As  he  fell,  a  woman's  shriek  rang  out 
from  the  crowd  and  tearing  her  way  through  the  line 
came  Annette,  who  flung  herself  upon  her  brother. 

"Here  you,"  said  Jack,  seizing  a  couple  of  men  from 
the  crowd,  "get  this  man  in  my  car.  Now,  Annette,"  he 
continued,  "don't  make  a  fuss.  Tony  isn't  hurt.  We'll 
send  him  quietly  home.  Now  then,  men,  let's  have  no 
nonsense,"  he  shouted.  "I  want  this  street  cleared,  and 
quick!" 

As  he  spoke,  a  huge  man  ran  out  from  the  crowd  and, 
with  an  oath,  flung  himself  at  Maitland.  But  before  he 
came  within  striking  distance,  an  axe  handle  flashed  and 
the  man  went  down  like  a  log. 

"Axe  handles !"  shouted  Maitland.    "But  steady,  men !" 

Over  the  heads  of  the  advancing  line,  the  axe  handles 
swung,  men  dropping  before  them  at  every  step.  At  once 
the  crowd  began  a  hasty  retreat,  till  the  pressure  upon 
[254] 


THE  STORM 


the  back  lines  made  it  impossible  for  those  in  front  to 
escape.  From  over  the  heads  of  the  crowd  rocks  began 
to  fly.  A  number  of  his  specials  were  wounded  and  for  a 
moment  the  advance  hung  fire.  Down  through  the 
crowd  came  a  fireman,  dragging  with  him  a  hose  pre- 
paratory to  getting  into  action. 

"Hello,  there!"  called  Maitland.  The  fireman  looked 
up  at  him.  Jack  sprang  down  to  his  side.  "I  want  to  clear 
this  street,"  he  said.  "You  can  do  it  for  me." 

"Well,  I  can  try,"  said  the  fireman  with  a  grin,  and 
turning  his  hose  toward  the  crowd,  gave  the  signal  for 
the  water,  holding  the  nozzle  at  an  angle  slightly  off  the 
perpendicular.  In  a  very  few  moments  the  crowd  in  the 
rear  found  themselves  under  a  deluge  of  falling  water, 
and  immediately  they  took  to  their  heels,  followed  as 
rapidly  as  possible  by  those  in  front.  Then,  levelling  his 
nozzle,  the  fireman  proceeded  to  wash  back  from  either 
side  of  the  street  those  who  had  sought  refuge  there,  and 
before  many  minutes  had  elapsed,  the  street  was  cleared, 
and  in  command  of  Maitland's  specials. 

Leaving  the  street  under  guard,  Maitland  and  his 
specials  went  to  the  help  of  the  Chief,  who  was  hampered 
more  or  less  by  His  Worship,  the  Mayor,  and  very  con- 
siderably by  Mr.  McGinnis,  who  had  meantime  arrived, 
mad  with  rage  and  demanding  blood,  and  proceeded  to 
clear  up  the  foundry  yard,  and  rescue  the  strike-breakers 
who  had  taken  refuge  within  the  burning  building  and 
in  holes  and  corners  about  the  premises.  It  was  no  light 
matter,  but  under  the  patient,  good-natured  but  resolute 
direction  of  the  Chief,  they  finally  completed  their  job, 
rounding  up  the  strike-breakers  in  a  corner  of  the  yard 
and  driving  off  their  assailants  to  a  safe  distance. 

There  remained  still  the  most  difficult  part  of  their 
task.  The  strike-breakers  must  be  got  to  the  Police 

[255] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


Headquarters,  the  nearest  available  place  of  safety.  For, 
on  the  street  beyond  the  water  line,  the  crowd  was  still 
waiting  in  wrathful  mood.  The  foundry  was  a  wreck,  but 
even  this  did  not  satisfy  the  fury  of  the  strikers,  which  had 
been  excited  by  the  presence  of  the  strike-breakers  im- 
ported by  McGinnis.  For  the  more  seriously  injured, 
ambulances  were  called,  and  these  were  safely  got  off 
under  police  guard  to  the  General  Hospital. 

The  Chief  entered  into  consultation  with  the  Mayor: 

"The  only  safe  place  within  reach,"  he  said,  "is  Police 
Headquarters.  And  the  shortest  and  best  route  is  up  the 
hill  to  the  left.  But  unfortunately,  that  is  where  the  big 
crowd  is  gathered.  There  are  not  so  many  if  we  take 
the  route  to  the  right,  but  that  is  a  longer  way  round." 

"Put  the  men  in  your  cars,  Chief,"  said  McGinnis,  "and 
smash  your  way  through.  They  can't  stop  you." 

"Yes,  and  kill  a  dozen  or  so,"  said  the  Chief. 

"Why  not?    Aren't  they  breaking  the  law?" 

"Oh,  well,  Mr.  McGinnis,"  said  the  Chief,  "it  is  easy 
to  kill  men.  The  trouble  is  they  are  no  use  to  anybody 
after  they  are  dead.  No,  we  must  have  no  killing  to-night. 
To-morrow  we'd  be  sorry  for  it." 

"Let  us  drive  up  and  see  them,"  suggested  the  Mayor. 
"Let  me  talk  to  the  boys.  The  boys  know  me." 

The  Chief  did  not  appear  to  be  greatly  in  love  with  the 
suggestion  of  the  Mayor. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "it  would  do  no  harm  to  drive  up  and 
have  a  look  at  them.  We'll  see  how  they  are  fixed,  any- 
way. I  think,  Mr.  McGinnis,  you  had  better  remain  on 
guard  here.  The  Mayor  and  Captain  Maitland  will  come 
with  me." 

Commandeering  Rupert  and  his  car,  the  Chief  took  his 
party  at  a  moderate  pace  up  the  street,  at  the  top  of  which 
[256] 


THE  STORM 


the  crowd  stood  waiting  in  compact  masses.  Into  these 
masses  Rupert  recklessly  drove  his  car. 

"Steady  there,  Stillwell,"  warned  the  Chief.  "You'll 
hurt  someone." 

"Hurt  them?"  said  Rupert.     "What  do  you  want?" 

"Certainly  not  to  hurt  anyone,"  replied  the  Chief  quiet- 
ly. "The  function  of  my  police  force  is  the  protection  of 
citizens.  Halt  there!" 

The  Chief  stepped  out  among  the  strikers  and  stood  in 
the  glare  of  the  headlights. 

"Well,  boys,"  he  said  pleasantly,  "don't  you  think  it  is 
time  to  get  home  ?  I  think  you  have  done  enough  damage 
to-night  already.  I  am  going  to  give  you  a  chance  to  get 
away.  We  don't  want  to  hurt  anyone  and  we  don't  want 
to  have  any  of  you  down  for  five  years  or  so." 

Then  the  Mayor  spoke  up.  "Men,  this  is  a  most  dis- 
graceful thing.  Most  deplorable.  Think  of  the  stain  upon 
the  good  name  of  our  fair  city." 

Howls  of  derision  drowned  his  further  speech  for  a 
time. 

"Now,  boys,"  he  continued,  "can't  we  end  this  thing 
right  here?  Why  can't  you  disperse  quietly  and  go  to 
your  homes?  What  do  you  want  here,  anyway?" 

"Scabs !"  yelled  a  voice,  followed  by  a  savage  yell  from 
the  crowd. 

"Men,"  said  the  Chief  sharply,  "you  know  me.  I  want 
this  street  cleared.  I  shall  return  here  in  five  minutes  and 
anyone  seeking  to  stop  me  will  do  so  at  his  own  risk.  I 
have  a  hundred  men  down  there  and  this  time  they  won't 
give  you  the  soft  end  of  the  club." 

"We  want  them  sulphurously  described  scabs,"  yelled 
a  voice.  "We  ain't  goin'  to  kill  them,  Chief.  They're 
lousy.  We  want  to  give  'em  a  bath."  And  a  savage  yell 
of  laughter  greeted  the  remark.  On  every  hand  the  word 

[257] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


was  taken  up:  "A  bath!  A  bath!  The  river!  The 
river!"  The  savage  laughter  of  the  crowd  was  even  more 
horrible  than  their  rage. 

"All  right,  boys.  We  are  coming  back  and  we  are  go- 
ing through.  Leave  this  street  clear  or  take  your  chances ! 
It's  up  to  you !"  So  saying,  the  car  was  turned  about  and 
the  party  proceeded  back  to  the  foundry. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do,  Chief  ?"  inquired  the  Mayor 
anxiously. 

"There  are  a  lot  of  soldiers  in  that  crowd,"  said  the 
Chief.  "I  don't  like  the  looks  of  them.  They  are  too 
steady.  I  hate  to  smash  through  them." 

Arrived  at  the  foundry,  the  Chief  paced  up  and  down, 
pondering  his  problem.  He  called  Maitland  to  his  side. 

"How  many  cars  have  we  here,  Maitland?"  he  inquired. 

"Some  fifteen,  I  think.  And  there  are  five  or  six  more 
parked  down  on  the  street." 

"That  would  be  enough,"  said  the  Chief.  "I  hate  the 
idea  of  smashing  through  that  crowd.  You  see,  some  of 
those  boys  went  through  hell  with  me  and  I  hate  to  hurt 
them." 

"Why  not  try  a  ruse?"  suggested  Maitland.  "Divide 
your  party.  You  take  five  or  six  cars  with  constables  up 
the  hill  to  that  crowd  there.  Let  me  take  the  strike- 
breakers and  the  rest  of  the  cars  and  make  a  dash  to  the 
right.  It's  a  longer  way  round  but  with  the  streets  clear, 
we  can  arrive  at  Headquarters  in  a  very  few  minutes." 

The  Chief  considered  the  plan  for  a  few  minutes  in 
silence. 

"It's  a  good  plan,  Maitland,"  he  said  at  length.  "It's  a 
good  plan.  And  we'll  put  it  through.  I'll  make  the  feint 
on  the  left ;  you  run  them  through  on  the  right.  I  believe 
we  can  pull  it  off.  Give  me  a  few  minutes  to  engage  their 
attention  before  you  set  out." 
[258] 


THE  STORM 


Everything  came  off  according  to  plan.  As  the  Chief's 
detachment  of  cars  approached  the  solid  mass  of  strikers, 
they  slowly  gave  back  before  them. 

"Clear  the  way  there!"  said  the  Chief.  "We  are  go- 
ing through !" 

Step  by  step  the  crowd  gave  way,  pressed  by  the 
approaching  cars.  Suddenly,  at  a  word  of  command,  the 
mass  opened  ranks  and  the  Chief  saw  before  him  a  barrier 
across  the  street,  constructed  of  fencing  torn  from  neigh- 
bouring gardens,  an  upturned  delivery  wagon,  a  very  ugly 
and  very  savage-looking  field  harrow  commandeered  from 
a  neighbouring  market  garden,  with  wicked-looking,  pro- 
truding teeth  and  other  debris  of  varied  material,  but  all 
helping  to  produce  a  most  effective  barricade.  Silently 
the  Chief  stood  for  a  few  moments,  gazing  at  the  obstruc- 
tion. A  curious,  ominous  growl  of  laughter  ran  through 
the  mob.  Then  came  a  sharp  word  of  command: 

"Unload!" 

As  with  one  movement  his  party  of  constables  were  on 
the  ground  and  lined  up  in  front  of  their  cars,  with  their 
clubs  and  axe  handles  ready  for  service.  Still  the  mob 
waited  in  ominous  silence.  The  Chief  drew  his  gun  and 
said  in  a  loud,  clear  voice : 

"I  am  going  to  clear  away  this  barricade.  The  first 
man  that  offers  to  prevent  me  I  shall  shoot  on  the  spot." 

"I  wouldn't  do  that,  Chief,"  said  a  voice  quietly  from 
the  rear.  "There  are  others,  you  know.  Listen." 

Three  shots  rang  out  in  rapid  succession,  and  again 
silence  fell. 

Meantime  from  the  corner  of  the  barricade  a  man 
had  been  peering  into  the  cars. 

"Boys!"  he  shouted.  "They  ain't  there!  There  ain't 
no  scabs." 

The  Chief  laughed  quietly. 

[259] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


"Who  said  there  were?"  he  asked. 

"Sold,  by  thunder!"  said  the  man.  Then  he  yelled: 
"We'll  get  'em  yet.  Come  on,  boys,  to  the  main  street." 

Like  a  deer,  he  doubled  down  a  side  street,  followed  by 
the  crowd,  yelling,  cursing,  swearing  deep  oaths. 

"Let  'em  go,"  said  the  Chief.  "Maitland's  got  through 
by  this  time."  As  he  spoke,  two  shots  rang  out,  followed 
by  the  crash  of  glass,  and  the  headlights  of  the  first  car 
went  black. 

"Just  as  well  you  didn't  get  through,  Chief,"  said  the 
voice  of  the  previous  speaker.  "Might've  got  hurt,  eh?" 

"Give  it  to  him,  Chief,"  said  Rupert  savagely. 

"No  use,"  said  the  Chief.     "Let  him  go." 

Meanwhile,  Maitland,  with  little  or  no  opposition,  had 
got  his  cars  through  the  crowd,  which  as  a  matter  of 
fact  were  unaware  of  the  identity  of  the  party  until  after 
they  had  broken  through. 

Their  way  led  by  a  circuitous  route  through  quiet  back 
streets,  approaching  Police  Headquarters  from  the  rear. 
A  ten-minute  run  brought  them  to  a  short  side  street 
which  led  past  the  Maitland  Mills,  at  the  entrance  to 
which  they  saw  under  the  glare  of  the  arc  lights  over 
the  gateway  a  crowd  blocking  their  way. 

"Now,  what  in  thunder  is  this?  Hold  up  a  minute," 
said  Maitland  to  his  driver.  "Let  me  take  a  look."  He 
ran  forward  to  the  main  entrance.  There  he  found  the 
gateway,  which  stood  a  little  above  the  street  level,  blocked 
by  a  number  of  his  own  men,  some  of  whom  he  recognised 
as  members  of  his  hockey  team,,  and  among  them,  McNish. 
Out  in  the  street  among  the  crowd  stood  Simmons, 
standing  on  a  barrel,  lashing  himself  into  a  frenzy  and 
demanding  blood,  fire,  revolution,  and  what  not. 

"McNish,  you  here?"  said  Maitland  sharply.     "What 
is  it,  peace  or  war ?     Speak  quick!" 
[260] 


THE  STORM 


"A'm  haudden  these  fules  back  fra  the  mill,"  answered 
McNish  with  a  scowl.  Then,  dropping  into  his  book 
English,  he  continued  bitterly:  "They  have  done  enough 
to-night  already.  They  have  wrecked  our  cause  for  us !" 

"You  are  dead  right,  McNish,"  answered  Maitland. 
"And  what  do  they  want  here?" 

"They  are  some  of  McGinnis's  men  and  they  are  mad 
at  the  way  you  handled  them  over  yonder.  They  are 
bound  to  get  in  here.  They  are  only  waiting  for  the 
rest  of  the  crowd.  Yon  eejit  doesn't  know  what  he  is 
saying.  They  are  all  half-drunk." 

Maitland's  mind  worked  swiftly.  "McNish,  listen!" 
he  said.  "I  am  in  a  deuce  of  a  fix.  I  have  the  scabs  in 
those  cars  there  with  me.  The  crowd  are  following  me 
up.  What  shall  I  do?" 

"My  God,  man,  you're  lost.    They'll  tear  ye  tae  bits." 

"McNish,  listen.  I'll  run  them  into  the  office  by  the 
side  gate  down  the  street.  Keep  them  busy  here.  Let 
that  fool  Simmons  spout  all  he  wants.  He'll  help  to  make 
a  row." 

His  eyes  fell  upon  a  crouching  figure  at  his  feet. 

"Who  is  this?  It's  Sam,  by  all  that's  holy!  Why, 
Sam,  you  are  the  very  chap  I  want.  Listen,  boy.  Slip 
around  to  the  side  door  and  open  it  wide  till  I  bring  in 
some  cars.  Then  shut  and  bar  it  quick."  Carefully  he 
repeated  his  instructions.  "Can  you  do  it,  Sam?" 

"I'm  awful  scared,  Captain,"  replied  the  boy,  his  teeth 
chattering,  "but  I'll  try  it." 

"Good  boy,"  said  Maitland.  "Don't  fail  me,  Sam. 
They  might  kill  me." 

"All  right,  Captain.  I'll  do  it!"  And  Sam  disap- 
peared, crawling  under  the  gate,  while  Maitland  slipped 
back  to  his  cars  and  passed  the  word  among  the  drivers. 
"Keep  close  up  and  stop  for  nothing!" 

[261] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


They  had  almost  made  the  entry  when  some  man 
hanging  on  the  rear  of  the  crowd  caught  sight  of  them. 

"Scabs !  Scabs !"  cried  the  man,  dashing  after  the  cars. 
But  Sam  was  equal  to  his  task,  and  as  the  last  car  passed 
through  the  gateway  he  slammed  and  bolted  the  door  in 
their  faces. 

Disposing  of  the  strike-breakers  in  the  office,  Maitland 
and  his  guard  of  specials  passed  outside  to  the  main  gate 
and  took  their  places  beside  McNish  and  his  guard.  Before 
them  the  mob  had  become  a  mad,  yelling,  frenzied  thing, 
bereft  of  power  of  thought,  swaying  under  the  fury  of 
their  passion  like  tree  tops  blown  by  storm,  reiterating  in 
hoarse  and  broken  cries  the  single  word  "Scabs !  Scabs !" 

"Keep  them  going  somehow,  McNish,"  said  Maitland. 
"The  Chief  won't  be  long  now." 

McNish  climbed  up  upon  the  fence  and,  held  in  place 
there  by  two  specials,  lifted  his  hand  for  silence.  But 
Simmons,  who  all  too  obviously  had  fallen  under  the 
spell  of  the  bootleggers,  knew  too  well  the  peril  of  his 
cause.  Shrill  and  savage  rose  his  voice: 

"Don't  listen  to  'im.  'E's  a  traitor,  a  blank  and  double- 
blank  traitor,  'E  sold  us  (h)up,  'e  'as.  Don't  listen 
to  'im." 

Like  a  maniac  he  spat  out  the  words  from  his  foam- 
flecked  lips,  waving  his  arms  madly  about  his  head. 
Relief  came  from  an  unexpected  source.  Sam  Wiggles- 
worth,  annoyed  at  Simmons's  persistence  and  observing 
that  McNish,  to  whom  as  a  labour  leader  he  felt  himself 
bound,  regarded  the  orating  and  gesticulating  Simmons 
with  disfavour,  reached  down  and,  pulling  a  sizable  club 
from  beneath  the  bottom  of  a  fence,  took  careful  aim  and, 
with  the  accuracy  of  the  baseball  pitcher  that  he  was, 
hurled  it  at  the  swaying  figure  upon  the  barrel.  The  club 
caught  Simmons  fair  in  the  mouth,  who,  being,  none  too 
[262] 


THE  STORM 


firmly  set  upon  his  pedestal,  itself  affording  a  wobbling 
foothold,  landed  spatting  and  swearing  in  the  arms  of  his 
friends  below.  With  the  mercurial  temper  characteristic 
of  a  crowd,  they  burst  into  a  yell  of  laughter. 

"Go  to  it  now,  McNish!"  said  Maitland. 

Echoing  the  laughter,  McNish  once  more  held  up  his 
hand.  "Earth  to  earth,  ashes  to  ashes,"  he  said  in  his 
deepest  and  most  solemn  tone.  The  phenomenal  absurdity 
of  a  joke  from  the  solemn  Scotchman  again  tickled  the 
uncertain  temperament  of  the  crowd  into  boisterous  laugh- 
ter. 

"Men,  listen  tae  me !"  cried  McNish.  "Ye  mad  a  bad 
mistake  the  nicht.  In  fact,  ye' re  a  lot  of  fules.  And 
those  who  led  ye  are  worse,  for  they  have  lost  us  the 
strike,  if  that  is  any  satisfaction  tae  ye.  And  now  ye 
want  to  do  another  fule  thing.  Ye're  mad  just  because 
ye  didn't  know  enough  to  keep  out  of  the  wet." 

But  at  this  point,  a  man  fighting  his  way  from  the  rear 
of  the  crowd,  once  more  raised  the  cry  "Scabs !" 

"Keep  that  fool  quiet,"  said  McNish  sharply. 

"Keep  quiet  yourself,  McNish,"  replied  the  man,  still 
pushing  his  way  toward  the  front. 

"Heaven  help  us  now,"  said  Maitland.  "It's  Tony, 
and  drunk  at  that!" 

It  was  indeed  Tony,  without  hat,  coat  or  vest. 

"McNish,  we  want  those  scabs,"  said  Tony,  in  drunken 
gravity. 

"There  are  nae  scabs  here.  Haud  ye're  drunken 
tongue,"  said  McNish  savagely. 

"McNish,"  persisted  Tony  in  a  grave  and  perfectly 
courteous  tone,  "you're  a  liar.  The  scabs  are  in  that 
office."  A  roar  again  swept  the  crowd. 

"Men,  listen  to  me,"  pleaded  McNish.  "A'll  tell  ye 
about  the  scabs.  They  are  in  the  office  yonder.  But  I 

[263] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


have  Captain  Maitland's  word  o'  honour  that  they  will  be 
shipped  out  of  town  by  the  first  train." 

A  savage  yell  answered  him. 

"McNish,  we'll  do  the  shipping,"  said  Tony,  moving 
still  nearer  the  speaker. 

"Officer,"  said  Maitland  sharply  to  a  uniformed  police- 
man standing  by  his  side,  "arrest  that  man!"  pointing  to 
Tony. 

The  policeman  drew  his  baton,  took  two  strides  for- 
ward, seized  Tony  by  the  back  of  the  neck  and  drew  him 
in.  An  angry  yell  went  up  from  the  mob.  Maitland  felt 
a  hand  upon  his  arm.  Looking  down,  he  saw  to  his  hor- 
ror and  dismay  Annette,  her  face  white  and  stricken  with 
grief  and  terror. 

"Oh,  Jack,"  she  pleaded,  "don't  let  Tony  be  arrested. 
He  broke  away  from  us.  Let  me  take  him.  He  will 
come  with  me.  Oh,  let  me  take  him!" 

"Rescue!  Rescue!"  shouted  the  crowd,  rushing  the 
cordon  of  police  lining  the  street. 

"Kill  him!  Kill  the  traitor!"  yelled  Simmons,  strug- 
gling through  and  waving  unsteadily  the  revolver  in  his 
hand.  "Down  with  that  tyrant,  Maitland!  Kill  him!" 
he  shrieked. 

He  raised  his  arm,  holding  his  gun  with  both  hands. 

"Look  out,  Jack,"  shrieked  Annette,  flinging  herself  on 
him. 

Simultaneously  with  the  shot,  a  woman's  scream  rang 
out  and  Annette  fell  back  into  Maitland's  arms.  A  silence 
deep  as  death  fell  upon  the  mob. 

With  a  groan  McNish  dropped  from  the  fence  beside 
the  girl. 

Annette  opened  her  eyes  and,  looking  up  into  Maitland's 
face,  whispered :  "He  didn't  get  you,  Jack.  I'm  so  glad." 

"Oh,  Annette,  dear  girl !     He's  killed  you !" 
[264] 


THE  STORM 


"It's — all — right — Jack,"  she  whispered.  "I — saved — 
you." 

Meanwhile  McNish,  with  her  hand  caught  in  his,  was 
sobbing:  "God,  have  mercy!  She's  deed!  She's  deed!" 

Annette  again  opened  her  eyes.  "Poor  Malcolm,,"  she 
whispered.  "Dear  Malcolm."  Then,  closing  her  eyes 
again,  quietly  as  a  tired  child,  she  sank  into  unconscious- 
ness. The  big  Scotchman,  still  kissing  her  hand,  sobbed : 

"Puir  lassie,  puir  lassie !  Ma  God !  Ma  God !  What 
now?  What  now?" 

"She  is  dead.  The  girl  is  dead."  The  word  passed 
from  lip  to  lip  among  the  crowd,  which  still  held  motion- 
less and  silent. 

"We'll  get  her  into  the  office,"  said  Maitland. 

"A'll  tak  her,"  said  McNish,  and,  stopping  down,  he 
lifted  her  tenderly  in  his  arms,  stood  for  a  moment  facing 
the  crowd,  and  then  in  a  voice  of  unutterable  sadness  that 
told  of  a  broken  heart,  he  said :  "Ye've  killed  her.  Ye've 
killed  the  puir  lassie.  Are  ye  content  ?"  And  passed  in 
through  the  gate,  holding  the  motionless  form  close  to  his 
heart. 

As  he  passed  with  his  pathetic  burden,  the  men  on  guard 
at  the  gate  bared  their  heads.  Immediately  on  every 
hand  throughout  the  crowd  men  took  off  their  hats  and 
stood  silent  till  he  had  disappeared  from  their  sight.  In 
the  presence  of  that  poignant  grief  their  rage  against  him 
ceased,  swept  out  of  their  hearts  by  an  overwhelming  pity. 

In  one  swift  instant  a  door  had  opened  fromj  another 
and  unknown  world,  and  through  the  open  door  a  Pres- 
ence, majestic,  imperious,  had  moved  in  upon  them, 
withering  with  His  icy  breath  their  hot  passions,  smiting 
their  noisy  clamour  to  guilty  silence. 


[265] 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A   GALLANT    FIGHT 

In  the  Rectory  the  night  was  one  long  agony  of  *ear 
and  anxiety.  Adrien  had  taken  Mrs.  Egan  and  her  babe 
home  in  a  taxi  as  soon  as  circumstances  would  warrant, 
and  then,  lest  they  should  alarm  their  mother,  they  made 
pretense  of  retiring  for  the  night. 

After  seeing  their  mother  safely  bestowed,  they  slipped 
downstairs,  and,  muffling  the  telephone,  sat  waiting 
for  news,  slipping  out  now  and  then  to  the  street,  one  at 
a  time,  to  watch  the  glare  of  the  fire  in  the  sky  and  to 
listen  for  the  sounds  of  rioting  from  the  town. 

At  length  from  Victor  came  news  of  the  tragedy.  With 
whitening  face,  Adrien  took  the  message.  Not  for  noth- 
ing had  she  walked  the  wards  in  France. 

"Listen,  Victor,"  she  said,  speaking  in  a  quick,  firm 
voice.  "It  is  almost  impossible  to  get  a  nurse  in  time 
and  quite  impossible  to  get  one  skilled  in  this  sort  of  case. 
Come  for  me.  I  shall  be  ready  and  shall  take  charge. 
Tell  Dr.  Meredith  I  am  quite  free." 

"All  right.    Lose  no  time." 

"Oh,  what  is  it,  Adrien?"  said  Patricia,  wringing  her 
hands.  "Is  it  Jack?  Or  Victor?" 

Adrien  caught  her  by  the  shoulders :  "Patricia,  I  want 
your  help.  No  talk !  Come  with  me.  I  will  tell  you  as 
I  dress." 

Swiftly,  with  no  hurry  or  flurry,  Adrien  changed  into 
her  uniform,  packed  her  bag,  giving  Patricia  meantime 
[266] 


A  GALLANT  FIGHT 


the  story  of  the  tragedy  which  she  had  heard  over  the 
telephone. 

"And  to  think  it  might  have  been  Jack,"  said  Patricia, 
wringing  her  hands.  "Oh,  dear,  dear  Annette,  Can't 
I  help  in  some  way,  Adrien?" 

"Patricia,  listen  to  me,  child.  The  first  thing  is  keep 
your  head.  You  can  help  me  greatly.  You  will  take 
charge  here  and  later,  perhaps,  you  can  help  me  in  other 
ways.  Meantime  you  must  assume  full  responsibility 
for  them  all  here.  Much  depends  on  you !" 

The  girl  stood  gazing  with  wide-open  blue  eyes  at  her 
sister.  Then  quietly  she  answered : 

"I'll  do  my  best,  Adrien.  There's  Vic."  She  rushed 
swiftly  downstairs.  Suddenly  she  stopped,  steadied  her 
pace,  and  received  him  with  a  calm  that  surprised  that 
young  man  beyond  measure. 

"Adrien  is  quite  ready,  Vic,"  she  said. 

"Topping,"  said  Vic  "What  a  brick  she  is!  Dr. 
Meredith  didn't  know  where  to  turn  for  a  nurse.  The 
hospital  is  full.  Every  nurse  is  engaged.  So  much  sick- 
ness, you  know,  in  town.  Ah,  here  she  is.  You  are  a 
lightning-change  artist,  Adrien." 

"How  is  Annette,  Vic?  Is  she  still  living?"  asked 
Patricia. 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  Vic,  wondering  at  the  change 
in  the  girl  before  him. 

"Darling,"  said  Adrien,  "I  will  let  you  know  at  once. 
I  hate  to  leave  you." 

"Leave  me!"  cried  Patricia.  "Nonsense,  Adrien,  I 
shall  be  quite  all  right.  Only,"  she  added,  clasping  her 
hands,  "let  me  know  when  you  can.'' 

When  the  ambulance  arrived  at  the  Maitland  home, 
Adrien  was  at  the  door.  All  was  in  readiness — hot 

[267] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


water,  bandages,  and  everything  needful  to  the  doctor's 
hand. 

McNish  carried  Annette  up  to  the  room  prepared  for 
her,  laid  her  down  and  stood  in  dumb  grief  looking  down 
upon  her. 

Adrien  touched  him  on  the  arm. 

"Come,"  she  said.  And,  taking  his  arm,  led  him 
downstairs.  "Stay  here,"  she  said.  "I  will  bring  you 
word  as  soon  as  possible." 

An  hour  later  she  returned,  and  found  him  sitting 
in  the  exact  position  in  which  she  had  left  him.  He  ap- 
parently had  not  moved  hand  or  foot.  At  her  entrance 
he  looked  up,  eager,  voiceless. 

"She  is  resting,"  said  Adrien.  "The  bullet  is  ex- 
tracted. It  had  gone  quite  through  to  the  outer  skin — > 
a  clean  wound." 

"How  long,"  said  McNish,  passing  his  tongue  over  his 
dry  lips,  "how  long  does  the  doctor  say " 

"The  doctor  says  nothing.     She  asked  for  you." 

McNish  started  up  and  went  toward  the  door. 

"But  you  cannot  go  to  her  now." 

"She  asked  for  me?"  said  McNish. 

"Yes.  But  she  must  be  kept  quite  quiet.  The  very 
least  excitement  might  hurt  her." 

"Hurt  her  ?"  said  McNish,  and  sat  down  quietly. 

After  a  moment's  silence,  he  said: 

"You  will  let  me  see  her — once  more — before  she — 
she—  "  He  paused,  his  lips  quivering,  his  great  blue  eyes 
pitifully  beseeching  her. 

"Mr.  McNish,"  said  Adrien,  "she  may  not  die." 

"Ma  God!"  he  whispered,  falling  on  his  knees  and 
catching  her  hand  in  both  of  his.  "Ma  God!  Dinna  lee 
tae  me." 

"Believe  me,  I  would  not,"  said  Adrien,  while  the  great 
[268] 


A  GALLANT  FIGHT 


eyes  seemed  to  drag  the  truth  from  her  very  soul.  "The 
doctor  says  nothing,  but  I  have  seen  many  cases  of  bullet 
wounds,  and  I  have  hope." 

"Hope,"  he  whispered.  "Hope!  Ma  God!  hope!" 
His  hands  went  to  his  face  and  his  great  frame  shook 
with  silent  sobbing. 

"But  you  must  be  very  quiet  and  steady." 

Immediately  he  was  on  his  feet  and  standing  like  a 
soldier  at  attention. 

"Ay,  A  wull,"  he  whispered  eagerly.  "Tell  me  what 
tae  do?" 

"First  of  all,"  said  Adrien,  "we  must  have  something 
to  eat." 

A  shudder  passed  through  him.  "Eat?"  he  said,  as  if 
he  had  never  heard  the  word. 

"Yes,"  said  Adrien.     "Remember,  you  promised." 

"Ay.  A'll  eat."  Like  a  man  under  a  mesmeric  spell, 
he  went  through  the  motions  of  eating.  His  mind  was 
far  away,  his  eyes  eager,  alert,  forever  upon  her  face. 

When  they  had  finished  their  meal,  Adrien  said : 

"Now,  Mr.  McNish,  is  there  anything  I  can  do  for 
you?" 

"A  would  like  to  send  word  to  ma  mither,"  he  said. 
"She  disna  ken  onything — aboot — aboot  Annette — aboot 
Annette  an'  me,"  a  faint  touch  of  red  coming  slowly  up 
in  his  grey  face. 

"I  shall  get  word  to  her.  I  know  the  very  man.  I 
shall  phone  the  Reverend  Murdo  Matheson." 

"Ay,"  said  McNish,  "he  is  the  man." 

"Now,  then,"  said  Adrien,  placing  him  in  an  easy 
chair,  "you  must  rest  there.  Remember,  I  am  keeping 
watch." 

With  the  promise  that  he  would  do  his  best  to  rest,  she 
left  him  sitting  bolt  upright  in  his  chair. 

[269] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


Toward  morning,  Maitland  appeared,  weary  and  hag- 
gard. Adrien  greeted  him  with  tender  solicitude;  it  was 
almlost  maternal  in  its  tone. 

"Oh,  Adrien,"  said  Maitland,  with  a  great  sight  of  re- 
lief, "you  don't  know  how  good  it  is  to  see  you  here.  It 
bucks  one  tremendously  to  feel  that  you  are  on  this  job.'* 

"I  shall  get  you  some  breakfast  immediately,"  she  an- 
swered in  a  calm,  matter-of-fact  voice.  "You  are  done 
out.  Your  father  has  come  in  and  has  gone  to  lie  down. 
McNish  is  in  the  library." 

"And  Annette?"  said  Maitland.  He  was  biting  his 
lips  to  keep  them  from  quivering.  "Is  she  still " 

"She  is  resting.  The  maid  is  watching  beside  her. 
Dear  Jack,"  she  uttered  with  a  quick  rush  of  sympathy, 
"I  know  how  hard  this  is  for  you.  But  I  am  not  with- 
out hope  for  Annette." 

A  quick  light  leaped  into  his  eyes.  "Hope,  did  you 
say?  Oh,  thank  the  good  Lord."  His  voice  broke  and 
he  turned  away  from  her.  "You  know,"  he  said,  coming 
back,  "she  gave  her  life  for  me.  Oh,  Adrien,  think  of  it! 
She  threw  herself  in  the  way  of  death  for  mfe.  She  cov- 
ered me  with  her  own  body."  He  sat  down  suddenly  as 
if  almost  in  collapse,  and  buried  his  head  in  his  arms, 
struggling  for  control. 

Adrien  went  to  him  and  put  her  arm  round  his  shoul- 
der— she  might  have  been  his  mother.  "Dear  Jack,"  she 
said,  "it  was  a  wonderful  thing  she  did.  God  will  surely 
spare  her  to  you." 

He  rose  wearily  from  his  chair  and  put  his  arms  around 
her. 

"Oh,  Adrien,"  he  said,  "it  is  good  to  have  you  here.  I 
do  need,  we  all  need  you  so." 

Gently  she  put  his  arms  away  from  her.  "And  now," 
[270] 


A  GALLANT  FIGHT 


she  said  briskly,  "I  am  going  to  take  charge  of  you,  Jack, 
of  you  all,  and  you  must  obey  orders." 

"Only  give  me  a  chance  to  do  anything  for  you,"  he 
said,  "or  for  anyone  you  care  for." 

There  was  a  puzzled  expression  on  Adrien's  face  as 
she  turned  away.  But  she  asked  no  explanation. 

"My  first  order,  then,"  she  said,  "is  this :  you  must 
have  your  breakfast  and  then  go  to  bed  for  an  hour  or 
two." 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  breakfast,  but  I  have  a  lot  of  things 
to  do." 

"Can't  they  wait?  And  won't  you  do  them  better 
after  a  good  sleep?" 

"Some  of  them  can't  wait,"  he  replied.  "I  have  just 
got  Tony  to  bed.  The  doctor  has  sent  him  to  sleep.  His 
father  and  mother  are  watching  him.  Oh,  Adrien,  that 
is  a  sad  home.  It  was  a  terrible  experience  for  me. 
Tony  I  must  see  when  he  wakes  and  the  poor  old  father 
and  mother  will  be  over  here  early.  I  must  be  ready 
for  them." 

"Very  well,  Jack,"  said  Adrien  in  a  prompt,  business- 
like tone.  "You  have  two  clear  hours  for  sleep.  You 
must  sleep  for  the  sake  of  others,  you  understand.  I 
promise  to  wake  you  in  good  time." 

"And  what  about  yourself,  Adrien?" 

"Oh,  this  is  my  job,"  she  said  lightly.  "I  shall  be 
relieved  in  the  afternoon,  the  doctor  has  promised." 

When  the  Employers'  Defence  Committee  met  next 
morning  there  were  many  haggard  faces  among  its  mem- 
bers. In  the  large  hall  outside  the  committee  room  a 
considerable  number  of  citizens,  young  and  old,  had 
gathered  and  with  them  the  Mayor,  conversing  in  voices 
tinged  with  various  emotions,  anxiety,  pity,  wrath,  ac- 
cording to  the  temper  and  disposition  of  each. 

[271] 


In  the  committee  room  Mr.  Farrington  was  in  the  chair. 
No  sooner  had  the  meeting  been  called  to  order  than  Mr. 
Maitland  arose,  and,  speaking  under  deep  but  controlled 
feeling,  he  said: 

"Gentlemen,  I  felt  sure  none  of  us  would  wish  to  trans- 
act ordinary  business  this  mtorning.  I  was  sure,  too, 
that  in  the  very  distressing  circumstances  under  which 
we  meet  you  would  feel  as  I  do  the  need  of  guidance  and 
help.  I  therefore  took  the  liberty  of  inviting  the  deputa- 
tion from  the  Ministerial  Association  which  waited  on 
us  the  other  day  to  join  us  in  our  deliberation.  Mr. 
Haynes  is  away  from  town,  but  Dr.  Templeton  and  Mr. 
Matheson  have  kindly  consented  to  be  present.  They 
will  be  here  in  half  an  hour's  time." 

A  general  and  hearty  approval  of  his  action  was  ex- 
pressed, after  which  the  Chairman  invited  suggestions  as 
to  the  course  to  be  pursued.  But  no  one  was  ready  with 
a  suggestion.  Somehow  the  outlook  upon  life  was  dif- 
ferent this  morning,  and  readjustment  of  vision  appeared 
to  be  necessary.  No  man  felt  himself  qualified  to  offer 
advice. 

From  this  dilemma  they  were  relieved  by  a  knock  upon 
the  door  and  the  Mayor  appeared. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "I  have  no  wish  to  intrude,  but  a 
great  many  of  our  citizens  are  in  the  larger  hall.  They 
are  anxious  to  be  advised  upon  the  present  trying  situa- 
tion. It  has  been  suggested  that  your  committee  might 
join  with  us  in  a  general  public  meeting." 

After  a  few  moments'  consideration,  the  Mayor's  prop- 
osition was  accepted  and  the  committee  adjourned  to  the 
larger  hall,  Mr.  Farrington  resigning  the  chair  to  His 
Worship,  the  Mayor. 

The  Mayor's  tongue  was  not  so  ready  this  morning. 
He  explained  the  circumstances  of  the  meeting  and 
[272] 


A  GALLANT  FIGHT 


thanked  the  committee  for  yielding  to  his  request.  He 
was  ready  to  receive  any  suggestions  as  to  what  the  next 
step  should  be. 

The  silence  which  followed  was  broken  by  Mr.  Mc- 
Ginnis,  who  arose  and,  in  a  voice  much  shaken,  he  in- 
quired : 

"Can  anyone  tell  us  just  what  is  the  last  word  con- 
cerning the  young  girl  this  morning?" 

Mr.  Maitland  replied:  "Before  I  left  the  house,  the  last 
report  was  that  she  was  resting  quietly  and,  while  the 
doctor  was  not  able  to  offer  any  hope  of  her  recovery,  he 
ventured  to  say  that  he  did  not  quite  despair.  And  that 
front  Dr.  Meredith,  as  we  know,  means  something." 

"Thank  God  for  that,"  said  McGinnis,  and  leaning  his 
head  upon  his  hand,  he  sat  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the 
floor. 

Again  the  Mayor  asked  for  suggestions,  but  no  one  in 
the  audience  appeared  willing  to  assume  the  responsibility 
of  offering  guidance. 

At  length  Rupert  Stillwell  arose.  He  apologised  for 
speaking  in  the  presence  of  older  men,  but  something  had 
to  be  done  and  he  ventured  to  offer  one  suggestion  at 
least. 

"It  occurs  to  me,"  he  said,  '"that  one  thing  at  least 
should  be  immediately  done.  Those  responsible  for  the 
disgraceful  riot  of  last  evening,  and  I  mean  more  than 
the  actual  ringleaders  in  the  affair,  should  be  brought  to 
justice."  He  proceeded  to  elaborate  upon  the  enormity 
of  the  crime,  the  danger  to  the  State  of  mob  rule,  the 
necessity  for  stern  measures  to  prevent  the  recurrence  of 
such  disorders.  He  suggested  a  special  citizens'  commit- 
tee for  the  preservation  of  public  order. 

His  words  appeared  to  meet  the  approval  of  a  large 
number  of  those  present,  especially  of  the  younger  men. 

[273] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


While  he  was  speaking,  the  audience  appeared  to  be 
greatly  relieved  to  see  Dr.  Templeton  and  the  Reverend 
Murdo  Matheson  walk  in  and  quietly  take  their  seats. 
They  remembered,  many  of  them,  how  at  a  recent  similar 
gathering  these  gentlemen  had  advised  a  procedure  which, 
if  followed,  would  have  undoubtedly  prevented  the  disas- 
ters of  the  previous  night. 

Giving  a  brief  account  of  the  proceedings  of  the  meet- 
ing to  the  present  point,  the  Mayor  suggested  that  Dr. 
Templeton  might  offer  them  a  word  of  advice. 

Courteously  thanking  the  Mayor  for  his  invitation,  the 
Doctor  said: 

"As  I  came  in  this  room,  I  caught  the  words  of  my 
young  friend,  who  suggested  a  committee  for  the  preser- 
vation of  public  order.  May  I  suggested  that  the  preser- 
vation of  public  order  in  the  community  is  something  that 
can  be  entrusted  to  no  committee?  It  rests  with  the 
whole  community.  We  have  all  made  mistakes,  we  are 
constantly  making  mistakes.  We  have  yielded  to  pas- 
sion, and  always  to  our  sorrow  and  hurt.  We  have  vainly 
imagined  that  by  the  exercise  of  force  we  can  settle  strife. 
No  question  of  right  or  justice  is  settled  by  fighting,  for, 
after  the  fighting  is  done,  the  matter  in  dispute  remains 
to  be  settled.  We  have  tried  that  way  and  to-day  we  are 
fronted  with  disastrous  failure.  I  have  come  from  a 
home  over  which  the  shadow  of  death  hangs  low.  There 
a  father  and  mother  lie  prostrate  with  sorrow,  agonising 
for  the  life  of  their  child.  But  a  deeper  shadow  lies 
there,  a  shadow  of  sin,  for  the  sting  of  death  is  sin.  A 
brother  torn  with  self-condemnation,  his  heart  broken 
with  grief  for  his  sister,  who  loved  him  better  than  her 
own  life,  lies  under  that  shadow  of  sin.  But,  gentlemen, 
can  any  of  us  escape  from  that  shadow?  Do  we  not  all 
share  in  that  sin?  For  we  all  have  a  part  in  the  deter- 
[274] 


A  GALLANT  FIGHT 


mining  of  our  environment.  Can  we  not,  by  God's  grace, 
lift  that  shadow  at  least  from  our  lives  ?  Let  us  turn  our 
faces  from  the  path  of  strife  toward  the  path  of  peace, 
for  the  pathway  of  right  doing  and  of  brotherly  kindness 
is  the  only  path  to  peace  in  this  world." 

The  Chairman  then  called  upon  the  Reverend  Murdo 
Matheson  to  express  his  mind.  But  at  this  point,  the 
whole  audience  were  galvanised  into  an  intensity  of  con- 
fused emotion  by  the  entrance  of  the  Executive  of  the 
Allied  Unions,  led  by  McNish  himself.  Simmons  alone 
was  absent,  being  at  that  moment,  with  some  half  dozen 
others,  in  the  care  of  the  police.  Silently  the  Executive 
Comm|ittee  walked  to  the  front  and  found  seats,  McNish 
alone  remaining  standing.  Grey,  gaunt,  hollow-eyed,  he 
met  with  steady  gaze  the  eyes  of  the  audience,  some  of 
them  aflame  with  hostile  wrath,  for  in  him  they  recognised 
the  responsible  head  of  the  labour  movement  that  had 
wrought  such  disaster  and  grief  in  the  community. 

Without  apology  or  preface  McNish  began :  "I  am  here 
seeking  peace,"  he  said,  in  his  hoarse,  hard,  guttural 
voice.  "I  have  made  mistakes.  Would  I  could  suffer 
for  them  alone,  but  no,  others  must  suffer  with  me.  I 
have  only  condemnation  for  the  outrages  of  last  night. 
tWe  repudiate  them,  we  lament  them.  We  tried  to  pre- 
vent them,  but  human  passion  and  circumstances  were 
too  strong  for  us.  We  would  undo  the  ill — would  to  God 
could  undo  the  ill.  How  gladly  would  I  suffer  all  that 
has  come  to  others."  His  deep,  harsh  voice  shook  under 
the  stress  of  his  emotion.  He  lifted  his  head :  "I  cannot 
deny  my  cause,"  he  continued,  his  voice  ringing  out  clear. 
"Our  cause  was  right,  but  the  spirit  was  wrong."  He 
paused  a  few  moments,  evidently  gathering  strength  to 
hold  his  voice  steady.  "Yes,  the  spirit  was  wrong  and 

[275] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


this  day  is  a  black  day  to  me.     We  come  to  ask  for  peace. 
God  knows  I  have  no  heart  for  war." 

Again  he  paused,  his  strong  stern  face  working  strange- 
ly under  the  stress  of  the  emotions  which  he  was  fighting 
to  subdue.  "We  suggest  a  committee  of  three,  with  pow- 
ers to  arbitrate,  and  we  name  as  our  man  one  who  till 
recently  was  one  of  our  Union,  a  man  of  fair  and  honest 
mind,  a  man  without  fear  and  with  a  heart  for  his  com- 
rades. Our  man  is  Captain  Maitland." 

His  words,  and  especially  the  name  of  the  representa- 
tive of  the  labour  unions  produced  an  overwhelming  effect 
upon  the  audience.  No  sooner  had  he  finished  than  the 
Reverend  Murdo  Matheson  took  the  floor.  He  spoke  no 
economics.  He  offered  no  elaborate  argument  for  peace. 
In  plain,  simple  words  he  told  of  experiences  through 
which  he  had  recently  passed : 

"Like  one  whom  I  feel  it  an  honour  to  call  my  father," 
he  began,  bowing  toward  Dr.  Templeton,  "I,  too,  have 
made  a  visit  this  morning.  Not  to  a  home,  but  to  a  place 
the  mbst  unlike  a  home  of  any  spot  in  this  sad  world,  a 
jail.  Seven  of  our  fellow-citizens  are  confined  there,  six 
of  them  boys,  mere  boys,  dazed  and  penetrated  with  sor- 
row for  their  folly — they  meant  no  crime — I  am  not  re- 
lieving them  of  the  blame — the  other,  a  man,  embittered 
with  a  long,  hard  fight  against  poverty,  injustice  and  cruel 
circumstance  in  another  land,  with  distorted  views  of  life, 
crazed  by  drink,  committed  a  crime  which  this  morning 
fills  him  with  horror  and  grief.  Late  last  night  I  was 
sent  to  the  home  of  one  of  my  people.  There  I  found 
an  aged  lady,  carrying  with  a  brave  heart  the  sorrows 
and  burdens  of  nearly  seventy  years,  waiting  in  anxiety 
and  grief  and  fear  for  her  son,  who  was  keeping  vigil 
at  what  may  well  be  the  deathbed  of  the  girl  he  loves. 
You  have  just  heard  his  plea  for  peace.  Some  of  you 
[276] 


A  GALLANT  FIGHT 


are  inclined  to  lay  the  blame  for  the  ills  that  have  fallen 
upon  us  upon  certain  classes  and  individuals  in  this  com- 
munity. They  have  their  blame  and  they  must  bear  the 
responsibility.  But,  gentlemen,  a  juster  estimate  of  the 
causes  of  these  ills  will  convince  us  that  they  are  the 
product  of  our  civilisation  and  for  these  things  we  must 
all  accept  our  share  of  responsibility.  More,  we  must 
seek  to  remove  them  from  among  us.  They  are  an  af- 
front to  our  intelligence,  an  insult  to  our  holy  religion,  an 
outrage  upon  the  love  of  our  brother  man  and  our  Father, 
God.  Let  us  humbly,  resolutely  seek  the  better  way,  the 
way  we  have  set  before  us  this  morning,  the  way  of 
right  doing,  of  brotherly  kindness  and  of  brotherly  love 
which  is  the  way  of  peace." 

It  was  a  subdued  company  of  men  that  listened  to  his 
appeal.  In  silence  they  sat  looking  straight  before  them 
with  faces  grave  and  frowning,  as  is  the  way  with  men 
of  our  race  when  deeply  stirred. 

It  was  a  morning  of  dramatic  surprises,  but  none  were 
so  startling,  none  so  dramatic  as  the  speech  of  McGinnis 
that  followed. 

"This  is  a  day  for  confessions,"  he  said,  "and  I  am 
here  to  make  one  for  myself.  I  have  been  a  fighter,  too 
much  of  a  fighter,  all  my  life,  and  I  have  often  suffered 
for  it.  I  suffered  a  heavy  loss  last  night  and  to-day  I  am 
sick  of  fighting.  But  I  have  found  this:  that  you  can't 
fight  men  in  this  world  without  fighting  women  and  chil- 
dren, too.  God  knows  I  have  no  war  with  the  old,  grey- 
haired  lady  the  Padre  has  just  told  us  about.  I  have  no 
war  with  that  broken-hearted  father  and  mother.  And  I 
have  no  war  with  Annette  Perrotte,  dear  girl,  God  pre- 
serve her."  At  this  point,  McGinnis's  contmand  quite 
forsook  him.  His  voice  utterly  broke  down,  while  the 
tears  ran  down  his  rugged  fighting  face.  "I  am  done  with 

[277] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


fighting,"  he  cried.  "They  have  named  Captain  Mait- 
land.  We  know  him  for  a  straight  man  and  a  white 
man.  Let  me  talk  with  Captain  Jack  Maitland,  and  let 
us  get  together  with  the  Padre  there,"  pointing  to  the 
Reverend  Murdo  Matheson,  "and  in  an  hour  we  will 
settle  this  matter." 

In  a  tumult  of  approval  the  suggestion  was  accepted. 
It  was  considered  a  perfectly  fitting  thing,  though  after- 
wards men  spoke  of  it  with  something  of  wonder,  that  the 
Mayor  should  have  called  upon  the  Reverend  Doctor  to 
close  the  meeting  with  prayer,  and  that  he  should  do  so 
without  making  a  speech. 

That  same  afternoon  the  three  men  met  to  consider  the 
matter  submitted  to  them.  Captain  Jack  Maitland  laid 
before  the  committee  his  figures  and  his  charts  setting 
forth  the  facts  in  regard  to  the  cost  of  living  and  the 
wage  scale  during  the  past  five  years.  In  less  than  an 
hour  they  had  agreed  upon  a  settlement.  There  was  to 
be  an  increase  of  wages  in  keeping  with  the  rise  of  the 
cost  of  living,  with  the  pledge  that  the  wage  scale  should 
follow  the  curb  of  the  cost  of  living  should  any  change 
occur  within  the  year.  The  hours  of  labour  were  short- 
ened from  ten  to  nine  for  a  day's  work,  with  the  pledge 
that  they  should  be  governed  by  the  effect  of  the  change 
upon  production  and  general  conditions.  And  further, 
that  a  Committee  of  Reference  should  be  appointed  for 
each  shop  and  craft,  to  which  all  differences  should  be 
submitted.  To  this  committee  also  were  referred  the 
other  demands  by  the  Allied  Unions. 

It  was  a  simple  solution  of  the  difficulty  and  upon  its 
submission  to  the  public  meeting  called  for  its  considera- 
tion, it  was  felt  that  the  comment  of  the  irrepressible  Vic- 
tor Forsythe  was  not  entirely  unfitting: 

"Of  course !"  said  Victor,  cheerfully.     "It  is  the  only 
[278] 


A  GALLANT  FIGHT 


thing.     Why  didn't  the  Johnnies  think  of  it  before,  or 
why  didn't  they  ask  me?" 

The  comjmittee,  however,  did  more  than  settle  the  dis- 
pute immediately  before  them.  They  laid  before  the  pub- 
lic meeting  and  obtained  its  approval  for  the  creation  of 
a  General  Board  of  Industry,  under  whose  guidance  the 
whole  question  of  the  industrial  life  of  the  community 
should  be  submitted  to  intelligent  study  and  control. 


[2791 


CHAPTER  XVII 

SHALL   BE   GIVEN 

For  one  long  week  of  seven  long  days  and  seven  long 
nights  Annette  fought  out  her  gallant  fight  for  life,  fought 
and  won.  Throughout  the  week  at  her  side  Adrien  wait- 
ed day  and  night,  except  for  a  few  hours  snatched  for 
rest,  when  Patricia  took  her  place,  for  there  was  not  a 
nurse  to  be  had  in  all  that  time  and  Patricia  begged  for 
the  privilege  of  sharing  her  vigil  with  her. 

Every  day  and  in  the  darkest  days  all  day  long,  it 
seemed  to  Adrien,  McNish  haunted  the  Maitland  home — 
for  he  had  abandoned  all  pretence  of  work — his  gaunt, 
grey  face  and  hollow  eyes  imploring  a  word  of  hope. 

But  it  was  chiefly  to  Jack  throughout  that  week  that 
Adrien's  heart  went  out  in  compassionate  pity,  for  in  his 
face  there  dwelt  a  misery  so  complete,  so  voiceless  that 
no  comfort  of  hers  appeared  to  be  able  to  bring  relief. 
Often  through  those  days  did  Annette  ask  to  see  him, 
but  the  old  doctor  was  relentless.  There  must  be  abso- 
lute quiet  and  utter  absence  of  all  excitement.  No  vis- 
itors were  to  be  permitted,  especially  no  men  visitors. 

But  the  day  came  when  the  ban  was  lifted  and  with 
smiling  face,  Adrien  came  for  Jack. 

"You  have  been  such  a  good  boy,"  she  cried  gaily, 
"that  I  am  going  to  give  you  a  great  treat.  You  are  to 
come  in  with  me." 

With  face  all  alight  Jack  followed  her  into  the  sick 
room. 

"Here  he  is,  Annette,"  cried  Adrien.  "Now,  remem- 
[280] 


SHALL  BE  GIVEN 


ber,  no  fussing,  no  excitement,  and  just  one  quarter  of 
an  hour — or  perhaps  a  little  longer,"  she  added. 

For  a  moment  or  two  Jack  stood  looking  at  the  girl 
lying  upon  the  bed. 

"Oh,  Annette,  my  dear,  dear  girl,"  he  cried  in  a  break- 
ing voice  as  he  knelt  down  by  her  side  and  took  her  hand 
in  his. 

So  much  reached  Adrien's  ears  as  she  closed  the  door 
and  passed  to  her  room  with  step  weary  and  lifeless. 

"Why,  Adrien,"  cried  her  sister,  who  was  waiting  to 
relieve  her,  "you  are  like  a  ghost !  You  poor  dear.  You 
are  horribly  done  out." 

"I  believe  I  am,  Patricia,"  said  Adrien.  "I  believe  I 
shall  rest  awhile."  She  lay  down  on  the  bed,  her  face 
turned  toward  the  wall,  and  so  remained  till  Patricia  went 
softly  away,  leaving  her,  as  she  thought,  to  sleep. 

Downstairs  Patricia  found  Victor  Forsythe  awaiting 
her. 

"Poor  Adrien  is  really  used  up,"  she  said.  "She  has  a 
deathly  look  in  her  face.  Just  the  same  look  as  she  had 
that  night  of  the  hockey  match.  Do  you  remember?" 

"The  night  of  the  hockey  dance?  Do  I  remember? 
A  ghastly  night — a  horrid  night — a  night  of  unspeakable 
wretchedness." 

As  Vic  was  speaking,  Patricia  kept  her  eyes  steadily 
upon  him  with  a  pondering,  puzzled  look. 

"What  is  it,  Patricia?  I  know  you  want  to  ask  me 
something.  Is  it  about  that  night?" 

"I  wonder  if  you  would  really  mind  very  much,  Vic, 
if  I  asked  you?" 

"Not  in  the  very  least.  I  shall  doubtless  enjoy  it  after 
it's  out.  Painless  dentistry  effect.  Go  to  it,  Patsy." 

"It  is  very  serious,  Vic.  I  always  think  people  in 

[281] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


books  are  so  stupid.     They  come  near  to  the  truth  and 
then  just  miss  getting  it." 

"The  truth.    Ah!    Go  on,  Pat." 

"Well,  Vic,"  said  Patricia  with  an  air  of  one  taking 
a  desperate  venture,  "why  did  you  not  give  Adrien  her 
note  that  night?  It  would  have  saved  her  and  me  such 
pain.  I  cried  all  night  long.  I  had  so  counted  on  a 
dance  with  Jack — and  then  never  a  word  from  hint.  But 
he  did  send  a  note.  He  told  me  so.  I  never  told  Adrien 
that,  for  she  forbade  me,  oh,  so  terribly,  never  to  speak 
of  it  again.  Why  didn't  you  give  her  or  me  the  note, 
Vic?"  Patricia's  voice  was  very  pathetic  and  her  eyes 
very  gentle  but  very  piercing. 

All  the  laughter  died  out  of  Victor's  face.  "Pat,  I 
lied  to  you  once,  only  once,  and  that  lie  has  cost  me  many 
an  hour's  misery.  But  now  I  shall  tell  you  the  truth  and 
the  whole  truth."  And  he  proceeded  to  recount  the  trib- 
ulations which  he  endured  on  the  night  of  the  hockey 
dance.  "I  did  it  to  help  you  both  out,  Pat.  I  thought 
I  could  make  it  easy  for  you.  It  was  all  a  sheer  guess, 
but  it  turned  out  to  be  pretty  well  right." 

Patricia  nodded  her  head.    "But  you  received  no  note  ?" 

"Not  a  scrap,  Patricia,  so  help  me.  Not  a  scrap. 
Patricia,  you  believe  me  ?" 

The  girl  looked  straight  into  Vic's  honest  eyes.  "Yes, 
Vic,"  she  said,  "I  believe  you.  But  Jack  sent  a  note." 

Vic  sprang  to  his  feet.  "Good-bye,  Watson.  You 
shall  hear  from  me  within  an  hour." 

"Whatever  do  you  mean?    Where  are  you  going?" 

"Dear  lady,  ask  no  questions.  I  am  about  to  Sher- 
lock. Farewell." 

At  the  door  he  overtook  Jack.     "Aha !     The  first  link 
in  the  chain.     Hello,  old  chap,  a  word  with  you.     May 
I  get  into  your  car  ?" 
[282] 


SHALL  BE  GIVEN 


"Certainly.     Get  in." 

"Now  then,  about  that  note.  Nothing  like  diplomacy. 
The  night  of  the  hockey  dance  you  sent  a  note  to  a  lady?" 

Jack  glanced  at  him  in  amazemtent. 

"Don't  be  an  ass,  Vic.  I  don't  feel  like  that  stuff  just 
now." 

"This  is  serious.  Did  you  send  a  note  by  me  that  night 
of  the  hockey  dance?" 

"By  you  ?     No.     Who  said  I  did  ?" 

"Aha!  The  mystery  deepens.  By  whom?  Nothing 
like  finesse." 

"It  is  none  of  your  business,"  said  Jack  crossly. 

"Check,"  cried  Vic. 

"What  are  you  talking  about,  anyway?"  inquired  Jack. 

"A  note  was  sent  by  you,"  said  Vic  impressively, 
"through  some  agency  at  present  unknown.  So  far,  so 
good." 

"Unknown?  What  rubbish.  I  sent  a  note  by  Sam 
Wiggles  worth,  who  gave  it  to  some  of  you  for  Adrien. 
What  about  it?" 

As  they  approached  the  entrance  to  the  Maitland  Mills 
Vic  saw  a  stream  of  employes  issue  from  the  gate. 

"Nothing  more  at  present,"  he  said.  "This  is  my  cor- 
ner. Let  me  out.  I  am  in  an  awful  hurry,  Jack." 

"Will  you  tell  me,  please,  what  all  this  means?"  said 
Jack  angrily. 

"Sorry,  old  chap.  Awfully  hurried  just  now.  See 
you  later." 

"You  are  a  vast  idiot,"  grumbled  Jack,  as  Vic  ran 
down  the  street. 

He  took  his  place  at  the  corner  which  commanded  the 
entrance  to  the  Maitland  works.  "Here  I  shall  wait,  ab- 
stractedly gazing  at  the  passers-by,  until  the  unhappy  Sam 

[283] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


makes  his  appearance,"  mused  Vic  to  himself.     "And  by 
the  powers,  here  Sam  is  now." 

From  among  the  employes  as  they  poured  from  the 
gate  Victor  pounced  upon  his  victim  and  bore  him  away 
down  a  side  street. 

"Sam,"  he  said,  "it  may  be  you  are  about  to  die,  so  tell 
me  the  truth.  I  hate  to  take  your  young  life."  Sam 
grinned  at  his  captor,  unafraid.  "Cast  your  mind  back 
to  the  occasion  of  the  hockey  dance.  You  remember 
that?" 

"You  bet  I  do,  Mister.     I  made  a  dollar  that  night." 

"Ah!  A  dollar.  Yes,  you  did,  for  delivering  a  note 
given  you  by  Captain  Jack  Maitland,"  hissed  Vic,  grip- 
ping his  arm. 

"Huh-huh,"  said  Sam.     "Look  out,  Mister,  that's  me." 

"Villain !"  cried  Vic.  "Boy,  I  mean.  Now,  Sam,  did 
you  deliver  that  note?" 

"Of  course  I  did.  Didn't  Captain  Jack  give  me  a  dol- 
lar for  it?  I  didn't  want  his  dollar." 

"The  last  question,  Sam,"  said  Vic  solemnly,  "to  whom 
did  you  deliver  the  note?" 

"To  that  chap,  the  son  of  the  storekeeper." 

"Rupert  Stillwell?"  suggested  Vic. 

"Huh-huh,  that's  his  name.  That's  him  now,"  cried 
Sam.  "In  that  Hudson  car — see — there — quick!" 

"Boy,"  said  Vic  solemnly,  "you  have  saved  your  life. 
Here's  a  dollar.  Now,  remember,  not  a  word  about 
this." 

"All  right,  sir,"  grinned  Sam  delightedly,  as  he  made 
off  down  the  street. 

"Now  then,  what?"  said  Vic  to  himself.     "This  thing 
has  got  past  the  joke  stage.     I  must  do  some  thinking. 
Shall  I  tell  Pat  or  not?     By  Jove,  by  Jove,  that's  not  the 
[284] 


SHALL  BE  GIVEN 


question.  When  that  young  lady  gets  those  big  eyes  of 
hers  on  me  the  truth  will  flow  in  a  limpid  stream.  I 
must  make  sure  of  my  ground.  Meantime  I  shall  do  the 
Kamerad  act." 

That  afternoon  Annette  had  another  visitor.  Her 
nurse,  though  somewhat  dubious  as  to  the  wisdom  of 
this  indulgence,  could  not  bring  herself  to  refuse  her  re- 
quest that  McNish  should  be  allowed  to  see  her. 

"But  you  must  be  tired.  Didn't  Jack  tire  you?"  in- 
quired Adrien. 

A  soft  and  tender  light  stole  into  the  girl's  dark  eyes. 

"Ah,  Jack.  He  could  not  tire  me,"  she  murmured. 
"He  makes  so  much  of  what  I  did.  How  gladly  would 
I  do  it  again.  Jack  is  wonderful  to  me.  Wonderful  to 
me,"  she  repeated  softly.  Her  lip  trembled  and  she  lay 
back  upon  her  pillow  and  from  her  closed  eyes  two  tears 
ran  down  her  cheek. 

"Now,"  said  Adrien  briskly,  "you  are  too  tired.  We 
shall  wait  till  to-morrow." 

"No,  no,  please,"  cried  Annette.  "]ack  didn't  tire  me. 
He  comforts  me." 

"But  Malcolm  will  tire  you,'f  said  Adrien.  "Do  you 
really  want  to  see  him?" 

A  faint  colour  came  up  into  the  beautiful  face  of  her 
patient. 

"Yes,  Adrien,  I  really  want  to  see  him.  I  am  sure  he 
will  do  me  good.  You  will  let  him  come,  please?"  The 
dark  eyes  were  shining  with  another  light,  more  wistful, 
more  tender. 

"Is  he  here,  Adrien?" 

"Is  he  here?"  echoed  Adrien  scornfully.  "Has  he 
been  anywhere  else  the  last  seven  days?" 

"Poor  Malcolm,"  said  the  girl,  the  tenderness  in  her 
voice  becoming  protective.  "I  have  been  very  bad  to 

[285] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


him,  and  he  loves  me  so.  Oh,  he  is  just  mad  about  me !" 
A  little  smile  stole  round  the  corners  of  her  mouth. 

"Oh,  you  needn't  tell  me  that,  Annette,"  said  Adrien. 
"It  is  easy  for  you  to  make  men  mad  about  you." 

"Not  many,"  said  the  girl,  still  softly  smiling. 

McNish  went  toward  the  door  of  the  sick  room  as  if 
approaching  a  holy  shrine,  walking  softly  and  reverently. 

"Go  in,  lucky  man,"  said  Adrien.  "Go  in,  and  thank 
God  for  your  good  fortune." 

He  paused  at  the  door,  turned  about  and  looked  at  her 
•with  grave  eyes.  "Miss  Templeton,"  he  said  in  slow, 
reverent  tones,  "all  my  life  shall  I  thank  God  for  His 
great  mercy  tae  me." 

"Don't  keep  her  waiting,  man,"  said  Adrien,  waving 
him  in.  Then  McNish  went  in  and  she  closed  the  door 
softly  upon  them. 

"There  are  only  a  few  great  moments  given  to  men," 
she  said,  "and  this  is  one  of  them  for  those  two  happy 
people." 

In  ten  days  Annette  was  pronounced  quite  fit  to  return 
to  her  family.  But  Patricia  resolved  that  they  should 
have  a  grand  fete  in  the  Maitland  home  before  Annette 
should  leave  it.  She  planned  a  motor  drive  in  the  cool 
of  the  day,  and  in  the  evening  all  their  special  friends  who 
had  been  brought  together  through  the  tragic  events  of 
the  past  weeks  should  come  to  bring  congratulations  and 
mlutual  felicitations  for  the  recovery  of  the  patient. 

Patricia  was  arranging  the  guest  list,  in  collaboration 
with  Mr.  Maitland  and  the  assistance  of  Annette  and 
Victor. 

"We  will  have  our  boys,  of  course,"  she  began. 

"Old  and  young,  I  hope  ?"  suggested  Mr.  Maitland. 

"Of  course!"  she  cried.  "Although  I  don't  know  any 
[286] 


SHALL  BE  GIVEN 


old  ones.     That  will  mean  all  the  fathers  and  Vic,  Jack, 
Hugh  and  Rupert,  and  Malcolm " 

"Ah !     It  has  come  to  Malcolm,  then  ?"  murmured  Vic. 

"Certainly,  why  not?  He  loves  me  to  call  him  Mal- 
cokn.  And  then  we  will  have  Mr.  Matheson.  And  we 
must  have  Mr.  McGinnis — they  have  become  such  great 
friends.  And  I  should  like  to  have  the  Mayor,  he  is  so 
funny.  But  perhaps  he  wouldn't  fit.  He  does  take  up  a 
lot  of  attention." 

"Cut  him  out !"  said  Victor  with  decision. 

"And  for  ladies,"  continued  Patricia,  "just  the  rela- 
tives— all  the  mothers  and  the  sisters.  That's  enough." 

"How  lovely!"  murmured  Vic. 

"Oh,  if  you  want  any  other  ladies,  Vic,"  said  Patricia 
severely,  "we  shall  be  delighted  to  invite  them  for  you." 

"Me?  Other  ladies?  What  could  I  do  with  other 
ladies?  Is  not  my  young  life  one  long  problem  as  it  is? 
Ah !  Speaking  of  problems,  that  reminds  me.  I  have  a 
communication  to  make  to  you  young  lady."  Vic's  man- 
ner suggested  a  profound  and  deadly  mystery.  He  led 
Patricia  away  from  the  others.  "I  have  something  to 
tell  you,  Patricia,"  he  said,  abandoning  all  badinage.  "I 
hate  to  do  it  but  it  is  right  for  you,  for  myself,  for  Adrien, 
and  by  Jove  for  poor  old  Jack,  too.  Though,  perhaps — 
well,  let  that  go." 

"Oh,  Vic!"  cried  Patricia.    "It  is  about  the  note!" 

"Yes,  Patricia.  That  note  was  given  by  Jack  to  Sam 
Wigglesworth,  who  gave  it  to  Rupert  Stillwell." 

"And  he  forgot?"  gasped  Patricia. 

"Ah — ah — at  least,  he  didn't  deliver  it.  No,  Patricia, 
we  are  telling  the  whole  truth.  He  didn't  forget.  You 
remember  he  asked  about  Jack.  There,  I  have  given  you 
all  I  know.  Make  of  it  what  you  like." 

"Shall  I  tell  Adrien?"  asked  Patricia. 

[287] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


"I  think  certainly  Adrien  ought  to  know." 

"Then  I'll  tell  her  to-night,"  said  Patricia.  "I  want  it 
all  over  before  our  fete,  which  is  day  after  to-morrow." 

Rupert  Stillwell  had  been  in  almost  daily  attendance 
upon  Adrien  during  the  past  two  weeks,  calling  for  her 
almost  every  afternoon  with  his  car.  The  day  following 
he  came  for  her  according  to  his  custom.  Upon  Adrien's 
face  there  dwelt  a  gentle,  tender,  happy  look  as  if  her 
heart  were  singing  for  very  joy.  That  look  upon  her 
face  drove  from  Rupert  all  the  hesitation  and  fear  which 
had  fallen  upon  him  during  these  days  of  her  ministry  to 
the  wounded  girl.  He  took  a  sudden  and  desperate  re- 
solve that  he  would  put  his  fate  to  the  test. 

Adrien's  answer  was  short  and  decisive. 
.     "No,  Rupert,"  she  said.     "I  cannot.     I  thought  for  a 
little  while,  long  ago,  that  perhaps  I  might,  but  now  I 
know  that  I  never  could  have  loved  you." 

"You  were  thinking  of  that  note  of  Jack  Maitland's 
which  I  sent  you  last  night?" 

"Oh,  no,"  she  said  gently.     "Not  that." 

"I  felt  awfully  mean  about  that,  Adrien.  I  feel  mean 
still.  I  thought  that  as  you  had  learned  all  about  it  from 
Victor,  it  was  of  no  importance." 

"Yes,"  she  replied  gently,  "but  I  was  the  best  judge  of 
that." 

"Adrien,  tell  me,"  Rupert's  voice  shook  with  the  in- 
tensity of  his  passion,  "is  there  no  hope?" 

"No,"  she  said,  "there  is  no  hope,  Rupert." 

"There  is  someone  else,"  he  said,  savagely. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  happily,  "I  think  so." 

"Someone,"  continued  Rupert,  his  voice  trembling  with 
rage,  "someone  who  distributes  his  affections." 

"No,"  she  said,  a  happy  smile  in  her  eyes,  "I  think 
not." 

[288] 


SHALL  BE  GIVEN 


"You  love  him  ?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  whispered,  with  a  little  catch  in  her 
breath,  "I  love  hint" 

At  the  door  on  their  return  Jack  met  them.  A  shadow 
fell  upon  his  face,  but  with  a  quick  resolve,  he  shouted 
a  loud  welcome  to  them. 

"Hello,  Adrien,"  he  cried,  as  she  came  running  up  the 
steps.  "You  apparently  have  had  a  lovely  drive." 

"Oh,  wonderful,  Jack.  A  wonderful  drive,"  she  re- 
plied. 

"Yes,  you  do  look  happy." 

"Oh,  so  happy.     I  was  never  so  happy." 

"Then,"  said  Jack,  dropping  his  voice,  "may  I  con- 
gratulate you?" 

"Yes,  I  think  so,"  she  said.  "I  hope  so."  And  then 
laughed  aloud  for  very  glee. 

Jack  turned  from  her  with  a  quick  sharp  movement, 
went  down  the  steps  and  offering  his  hand  to  Rupert, 
said: 

"Good  luck,  old  chap.     I  wish  you  good  luck." 

"Eh?  What?  Oh,  all  right,"  said  Rupert  in  a  dazed 
sort  of  way.  But  he  didn't  come  into  the  house. 

Never  was  there  such  a  day  in  June,  never  such  a  fete. 
The  park  never  looked  so  lovely  and  never  a  party  so  gay 
disported  themselves  in  it  and  gayest  of  them  all  was 
Adrien.  All  day  long  it  seemed  as  if  her  very  soul  were 
laughing  for  joy.  And  all  day  long  she  kept  close  beside 
Jack,  chaffing  him,  laughing  at  him,  rallying  him  on  his 
solemn  face  and  driving  him  half -mad  with  her  gay 
witchery. 

Then  home  they  all  came  to  supper,  where  waited  them 
McNish  and  his  mother  with  Mr.  McGinnis,  for  they  had 
been  unable  to  join  in  the  motor  drive. 

[289] 


TO  HIM  THAT  HATH 


"Ma  certie,  lassie !  But  ye're  a  sight  for  sare  een.  What 
hae  ye  bin  daein  tae  her,  Mr.  Jack,"  said  Mrs.  McNish, 
as  she  welcomed  them  at  the  door. 

"The  Lord  only  knows,"  said  Jack. 

"But,  man,  look  at  her !"  exclaimed  the  old  lady. 

"I  have  been,  all  day  long,"  replied  Jack  with  a  gallant 
attempt  at  gaiety. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  McNish,"  cried  the  girl,  rippling  with  joy- 
ous laughter,  "he  won't  even  look  at  me.  He  just — 
what  do  you  say — glowers,  that's  it — glowers  at  me.  And 
we  have  had  such  a  wonderful  day.  Come,  Jack,  get 
yourself  ready  for  supper.  You  have  only  a  few  min- 
utes." 

She  caught  her  arm  through  his  and  laughing  shamle- 
lessly  into  his  eyes,  drew  him  away. 

"I  say,  Adrien,"  said  Jack,  driven  finally  to  despera- 
tion and  drawing  her  into  the  quiet  of  the  library,  "I  am 
awfully  glad  you  are  so  happy  and  all  that,  but  I  don't 
see  the  necessity  of  rubbing  it  into  a  fellow.  You  know 
how  I  feel.  I  am  glad  for  you  and — I  am  glad  for 
Rupert.  Or,  at  least  I  told  him  so." 

"But,  Jack,"  said  the  girl,  her  eyes  burning  with  a  deep 
inner  glow,  "Rupert  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  Rupert, 
indeed,"  and  she  laughed  scornfully.  "Oh,  Jack,  why 
can't  you  see?" 

"See  what?"  he  said  crossly. 

"Jack,"  she  said  softly,  turning  toward  him  and  stand- 
ing very  near  him,  "you  remember  the  note  you  sent  me  ?" 

"Note?" 

"The  note  you  sent  the  night  of  the  hockey  dance?" 

"Yes,"  said  Jack  bitterly,  "I  remember." 

"And  you  remember,  too,  how  horrid  I  was  to  you  the 
next  time  I  saw  you  ?  How  horrid  ?  Oh,  Jack,  it  broke 
[290] 


SHALL  BE  GIVEN 


my  heart."  Her  voice  faltered  a  moment  and  her  shin- 
ing eyes  grew  dim.  "I  was  so  horrid  to  you." 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Jack  coolly,  "you  were  kind.  You  were 
very  kind  and  sisterly,  as  I  remember." 

"Jack,"  she  said  and  her  breath  began  to  come  hur- 
riedly, "I  got  that  note  yesterday.  Only  yesterday,  Jack." 

"Yesterday?" 

"Yes,  only  yesterday.  And  I  read  it,  Jack,"  she  added 
with  a  happy  laugh.  "And  in  that  note,  Jack,  you  said — 
do  you  remember " 

But  Jack  stood  gazing  stupidly  at  her.  She  pulled  the 
note  from  her  bosom. 

"Oh,  Jack,  you  said " 

Still  Jack  gazed  at  her. 

"Jack,  you  will  kill  me.  Won't  you  hurry?  Oh,  I 
can't  wait  a  moment  longer.  You  said  you  were  going  to 
tell  me  something,  Jack."  She  stood  radiant,  breathless 
and  madly  alluring.  "And  oh,  Jack,  won't  you  tell  me?" 

"Adrien,"  said  Jack,  his  voice  husky  and  uncontrolled. 
"Do  you  mean  that  you " 

"Oh,  Jack,  tell  mte  quick,"  she  said,  swaying  toward 
him.  And  while  she  clung  to  him  taking  his  kisses  on  her 
lips,  Jack  told  her. 


THE  END 


[291] 


A     000  123  090     3 


